


Somewhere In The Crowd There’s You

by FaultlessFinish, shrack



Series: Knowing Me, Knowing You (aka the Wrightiverse) [2]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Drug Use, M/M, References to Addiction, a character is dealing with ptsd, alcohol use, and don't listen anymore, because i definitely don't wanna be held responsible for whatever he's up to these days, but it’s not an angst fic and we’ll let you know if that’s coming up in a chapter, but not in a “wow he’s very cool” way, just some post faerun mellow domestic good times and character development, minor character injury, probably easiest to think of this Glenn as an OC who's loosely based on the dndads guy, rich boi glenn close, trans nick close, underage substance use cuz Nick, very background oakson-garcia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 81,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultlessFinish/pseuds/FaultlessFinish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrack/pseuds/shrack
Summary: The boys are back in town.(Sequel to Name of the Game, read that first)
Relationships: Glenn Close (Dungeons and Daddies)/Original Character(s)
Series: Knowing Me, Knowing You (aka the Wrightiverse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616062
Comments: 143
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder- this is a sequel to Name of the Game. We promise it makes more sense when read in that order
> 
> hit up wrightiverse.tumblr.com for art, more writing from this world, memes, and pg-13 cuts of both Name of the Game and Somewhere In The Crowd There's You

**_Glenn_ **

The guitar is dead weight in Glenn’s hands.

It’s not like Glenn to come into rehearsal feeling this way, but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. For a long time now, Trio members have rotated in and out, through conflicts of interest and infighting and once, the other two members hooking up with each other and leaving in a literal blaze of glory. Since he is the Glenn Close Trio’s titular member, he’s never felt as though he’s been _allowed_ to leave. It’s been God knows how many years now since he started this band. The other founding members are just contacts saved in Glenn’s phone these days, at least until one of them rings him up to get him out of jail or borrow money.

The two newest members are unfathomable. Glenn is almost surprised that they ever auditioned, let alone showed up to rehearsals. Two years and yet, miraculously, they still show up consistently. The same can’t be said about Glenn, but neither of them has a kid. It’s a surefire way to be allowed to miss your own band’s rehearsals, anyway.

Glenn stares at Dominic, with his pretentious bass guitar that always glitters in the fluorescent garage lights. He lives alone, and yet inexplicably has a two-story house. Glenn is absolutely positive the top floor is haunted, which was the only logical explanation to how he got it so cheap so close to Los Angeles. When pressed, Dominic simply said: “That’s ridiculous.”

Not a no.

On the other hand, Glenn is convinced that Spike, their drummer, lives on a street corner. He doesn’t really, he’s invited all of them over for drinks to his dingy apartment. But he lives with three other ex-fraternity dudes, so the place reeks regardless of the half-empty Glade air fresheners in every corner of their home. He works himself into a downright disgusting sweat on the drums; his body flings each and every way, sweat drips off his brow and onto the set, his tongue lolls out like Animal from the Muppets. Watching him almost feels offensive. It’s something he shouldn’t be allowed to do on a weekday in broad daylight. Anyone Spike has interacted with should be on some type of list.

Besides, he gave himself the nickname. His name is _David_.

For a few moments, when Glenn decides to come back to his own and follow along with the song they’re practicing, he decides to dive in with an impromptu solo. Dominic stares at him as he does it, but he can’t find it in himself to care. They should be honored to hear from him at all.

When the song comes to its typical end, and Glenn shuffles back into order, Dominic slings his bass off and places it gently in its designated stand. Glenn casts a glance at the beaten up, sticker-laden case that his guitar is usually propped up in.

“What was that?” Dominic accuses.

Glenn fidgets with the dull green pick between his fingers, and it cascades down his knuckles.

“We agreed that solos have to be prompted by another member, or deemed fit for the song.”

“It’s just rehearsal, man. Cool it.”

Dominic’s whole body tenses up. Glenn swears that the last time he pulled that move, it worked. Dominic stalks back to his resting bass while Spike slobbers slowly onto the drums. Mental note: how long can humans have rabies until they die?

For the amount of time Glenn’s been doing this, he’s never come as close to outright leaving as he has over the past few months. There’s no security in the job that he does, but it’s always been the backbone to his personality. He’s always been (as far as anyone is concerned) a rockstar who parties hard. But as his life goes on, as he repeats the same pattern, it feels more and more like it’s just better to let it die. 

Spike throws a battered drum stick at Glenn’s feet to snap him out of it. It startles a laugh out of him—while he may not love the guy, he at least cares a bit more than Dominic does. He’s only a few years out of college, finding his feet in the music world, and Glenn knows up and down how hard that life is. Trying to break into this world that’s incomprehensible to every guidance counselor or well-meaning adult. 

“You good, dude?” Spike asks. Glenn chucks the stick back at him. He catches it with frustrating ease.

Now, he could just drop the news. Spur of the moment shit: he’s taking the band name and his sexy-ass self and is leaving. "Life’s simple. You make choices and you don’t look back,” as the wise Han Lue from _The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift_ once said. But that task is daunting, a road that even the best Fast and Furious character couldn’t predict.

“Excellent,” Glenn says, and watches as Dominic plucks a few tense notes. “Won’t happen again, boys.”

**_Robin_ **

Robin is settled in for the night and setting the alarm on his phone when he realizes he’s missed a text from Glenn. Glenn is shameless about texting from next door, particularly when he’s already in bed. It simply reads _u up?_

Robin smiles and sits back against the headboard, phone in hand. _Yes. :)_

_i’m coming over_

Robin frowns at his phone.

_Nick’s home, stay put: I’ll be over in five_

He gets a reply quickly: 

_great see you soon_

And another: 

_try to keep it down when you come in though my boyfriend lives next door and I don’t want to get caught_

_Very funny._ Robin’s already unplugging his phone charger and looking for his robe. He doesn’t bother finding shoes, just pads down the hallway barefoot to Glenn’s place. Once inside, he moves quietly through the darkened apartment. Nick took the room that’s the office in Robin’s place, so at least he’s a decent distance away and isn’t likely to wake up.

Robin lets himself into Glenn’s room, pitch dark as usual; Glenn loves to sleep late, and as soon as Robin bought him blackout curtains, his bedroom became a full-time midnight zone. Robin makes his way to the bed by feel, trying not to trip on the discarded shoes and clothes that litter the floor. When his legs hit the bed, he locates the edge of the blankets and gets in. “Hi,” he whispers. Glenn just wraps around him like a sloth on a branch and yawns. Robin snuggles in and settles in to sleep, properly this time.

They wake up to Nick standing in the doorway, dancing from foot to foot. “Glenn, I need a ride to school, I missed the bus.” 

Glenn groans and tries to bury his head under the pillow. Robin sits up suddenly from behind Glenn, looking for a clock in the darkened room. “Oh shit, what time is it?”

Nick yelps in surprise. “When the fuck did you get here?”

“Please don’t curse,” Robin mumbles on autopilot, rummaging around in the sheets and on the bedside table for his phone. The screen lights up and tells him that he should have left for work half an hour ago. Apparently he never finished setting the alarm after he had seen Glenn’s text. “Oh, _fuck.”_

Robin eventually makes it to the office, then spends too much of the day trying to recover from the hectic morning. The math of the two apartments and their occupants has gotten a bit ridiculous lately. Nick is still a kid, for all he thinks of himself as so mature. He needs his dad to be around, which means Robin generally spends evenings and nights at the Close residence, then rushes over to his own place to get ready for the day. Occasionally Glenn will come over after Nick’s asleep, and then sneak back to his own place after an hour or two. It’s an imperfect solution, and slip-ups - such as the oversleeping this morning - are starting to happen more often. 

Plus, these fly-by-night arrangements really add an impermanent air to the whole situation. The idea of Nick waking up to hear Glenn coming back in from what was clearly a booty call makes Robin cringe. Nick’s a really good kid, and he’s been through enough, and it worries Robin that Nick might think he’s just having a… a _fling_ with Glenn. It doesn’t help that Glenn mocks and resists every possible term to define their relationship; admittedly, they’re a little old for _my boyfriend_ , and _lover_ is awful but surely _my partner_ or _my significant other_ should be okay. 

A musician’s hours don’t overlap well with high school and an 8-5 job, so Robin and Nick generally have at least one evening a week without Glenn. They’ll put together an easy dinner, and Robin will hang out quietly while Nick does his homework or plays online with his friends. Occasionally Nick will need Robin for some help with algebra, or he’ll unexpectedly volunteer a story from his day. In general, he’s a self-contained kid and their evenings together are comfortably low-key. 

Nick’s currently working on a sudoku book that he’s been dragging around lately, sitting across the kitchen table from where Robin’s flipping through a magazine. It’ll be time for bed soon, but Robin feels the sudden need to talk to Nick about the whole situation and make sure he’s doing okay before things go any further. He’s a part of this too, after all. “Can I talk to you about something? It’s to do with me and your dad.”

Nick shrugs, his attention still on solving his puzzle. “What, you want my permission to propose or something?” 

Robin manages not to snap the pencil he's holding in half. “Uh… I mostly wanted to make sure you knew that I’m taking all this pretty seriously. Because I know Glenn jokes a lot about next door neighbors with benefits.” 

“Glenn says a lot of sh— a lot of stuff,” Nick says with a very familiar eye roll. “He loves to give you a hard time, but you know, you’re his ride or die. That’s what he told me, so…” He shrugs as though the interpretation is self-evident. 

“Is that serious?” 

Nick looks skeptical that Robin can be this out of the loop. “Yeah, it’s serious. _Ride or die.”_

“Okay,” Robin says, confused but pleased. “Well… thanks.”

Nick pushes the book toward Robin. “You can thank me by helping me with this one before I lose my mind.” 

“Glad to.”


	2. Chapter 2




	3. Chapter 3

_**Glenn** _

It’s a normal Sunday afternoon for Glenn - rehearsal and business meeting with the trio, come home, check in with Nick, smoke up, bother Robin. But when Glenn goes next door, Robin’s not in any of his usual places.

Oh shit. This is the weekend Connor was moving into the dorms. It’s only about a 90 minute drive, but it’s still a milestone and Robin’s been counting down to it for a month.

Glenn’s so used to ignoring Connor’s room that he almost forgets to look in there before he gives up. Fortunately, the door’s ajar and he nudges it the rest of the way open with his foot. Robin is sitting on the floor of the half-emptied room with a rocks glass and a bottle of scotch, his back resting against the bed. He’s listening to one of those mournful Lilith Fair type singers that he likes (and that Glenn can’t tell apart).

“Hey, baby,” Glenn ventures. “What are you doing in here?” 

Robin turns slowly toward Glenn with the careful movements he uses when he’s fairly drunk. “Celebrating?”

“On the floor, alone?”

Robin contemplates this and tries again. “Self care?”

“Oh, okay.” Glenn sits down next to Robin and helps himself to the bottle for a swig. Legitimately sad Robin is a rare beast, and Glenn’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad sign that Robin’s broken into the pricey scotch for this pity party. At least Robin isn’t drinking completely alone, since he’s holding a very worn stuffed lion. “Who you got there?”

“Mr. Lion,” Robin mumbles. “We did Connor’s fifth birthday at Build-a-Bear. Sixth. Fifth? Fifth.”

“Ah.” Glenn leans in. “What’s up, Mr. Lion. How long has Robin been in here with the scotch?”

Apparently Mr. Lion’s not a narc. He does, however, look suspiciously lumpy in a way that suggests he may be stashing more than cotton in his fluffy body. Despite all laws of nature and nurture, Connor sometimes displays a very strong streak of Glenn. 

Robin slumps slowly over and rests his head in Glenn’s lap, using Mr. Lion as a pillow. “My baby is gone,” he hiccups. He’s working himself into a crying jag, and Glenn strokes his hair reassuringly and tries to think of something helpful to say.

“We still have Nick,” Glenn offers. This upsets Robin more, and he really should have expected that, given how soft Robin gets at the slightest hint that he has a role in Nick’s life. Nevertheless, mention of Nick gives Glenn a good idea, and he surreptitiously texts the kid with his free hand: _cookie emergency next door help asap_

“I want him to be independent,” Robin is trying to explain into Glenn’s knee, “but also I don’t want to be all alone.”

Glenn flicks his ear reproachfully. “You're not _all_ _alone_. I’m right here, dumbass.” 

The front door slams and they hear Nick moving around. “Robin, my dad said to bring cookies, so I’m just gonna leave them on the counter, okay? I promise I’m doing homework before video games.” There’s some more movement and then the door slams again. Robin mumbles something dramatic about how Connor used to call _him_ ‘my dad.’

“He still calls you his dad, dude. I’ll call him right now. I’ll drive and we’ll be there before you get done picking out road trip music. With your own ears, you can hear him say ‘why is _my dad_ whiskey drunk on campus on a Sunday afternoon? Why isn’t _my dad_ in his newly empty home, banging his sexy-ass, significantly younger boyfriend on every surface?’”

“Hmm. It’s not a great look,” Robin admits to Mr. Lion. He stirs a bit and looks at Glenn. “Significantly?”

“There he is,” Glenn says, satisfied. “Now get your ass up. I don’t care how expensive that shit is, you’re gonna be hurting if you don’t eat something and drink some water.”

Robin nods, but doesn’t move until Glenn stands up and dumps him on the floor. Glenn glares down at him for a second, then braces himself to help Robin up. It’s like trying to elevate and steer a heavily tranquilized giraffe, but they manage it eventually and he gets Robin safely to the couch. At least this part is in Glenn’s wheelhouse: time to find something chill to watch, something bready to soak the alcohol up, and hydration. He turns on a random episode of a baking show to entertain Robin while he grabs the cookies and a glass of water. When he gets back, Robin’s eyes are already closed. He puts the cold glass on Robin’s forehead to revive him. “Wake up, dude. Patisserie week.”

“Ooh.” Robin sits up and Glenn sticks a cookie in his mouth. “I could make that,” Robin mumbles around the crumbs, pointing at the screen. 

“Sure you could, baby.” Glenn says, and hands him the glass of water. Some people think they can fight cops when they’re wasted, Robin thinks he can take on pâte à choux. He’s wrong, but it’s the kind of wrong that ends up with them giving up and eating pastry cream out of a bowl with their fingers, so Glenn’s on board. 

“We can call Connor later if you want,” he offers. 

“Nah,” Robin waves as though he’s chasing the idea away from them. “Let him settle in. Ooh, we can text him!” He starts to look for his phone and almost rolls off the couch. 

Glenn stabilizes him and pulls out his own phone instead, leans back onto Robin so they’re both in frame. “Okay, smile.” Robin plants a kiss on Glenn’s cheek as the picture clicks and the resulting photo is blurry but happy. 

Glenn texts the pic to Connor with the caption _partying hard without you._

Connor texts back: _miss u guys too_  
  


_**Robin** _

It’s late, and there’s no excuse for Robin to be up doing work. He’s editing a coworker’s proposal that’s not due until the end of the week, and it’s only Wednesday. After Nick went to bed, Glenn disappeared into his own bedroom without so much as a parting word, which could mean any number of things. 

It’s just hard to tear himself away when he’s focused, for once. It’s a rare thing when he’s at Glenn’s place. Even his own home office isn’t safe anymore from surprise Glenn appearances. Robin’s coworkers live for the moments when Glenn strolls into the frame of Robin’s video calls, shirtless and smoking, to ask Robin a question about dinner or date night or if an escaped panther could potentially survive undetected for years in downtown Los Angeles. 

A door creaks, and Glenn’s telltale footsteps approach. Robin considers his options, and decides to keep working and see what Glenn does. Out of the corner of Robin’s eye, he sees a Glenn shape settle onto the other end of the couch. For a few moments, nothing happens, and Robin gets back to marking up a particularly egregious sentence.

Glenn crawls along the couch on his knees, and it takes Robin a second to realize what he’s doing. He’s still half-reading the paper in front of him as Glenn nudges his arms up, and in a less-than-graceful move slings a leg over to straddle his waist and wiggle through the loop of Robin’s arms. It takes a bit for Glenn to shuffle around and adjust, Robin lifting his head to let Glenn slide his arms around him and presses his forehead against the side of Robin’s neck.

“You good?” Robin mumbles, turning the page on his packet, and Glenn’s chest rumbles with a soft hum.

Continuing to do markup proves a little difficult, particularly as Glenn dozes off and his body takes on that slack heaviness of sleep. Despite the challenges, Robin’s eventually able to finish his review. Once he’s done, he chucks the packet less than gracefully on or near the couch next to them. When he rests his hand on Glenn’s lower back, Glenn stirs and hides his face fully in Robin’s neck. Robin grins. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” Glenn mutters. Robin can feel him smile despite it.

Robin’s free hand comes to slide his fingers through the back of Glenn’s hair. Glenn loves this kind of touch but hates getting his hair messed up, so it’s a total mystery as to what kind of reaction Robin will get. Luckily this time, when he scratches his scalp gently, Glenn makes a soft, happy noise in response.

“You’re like a cat,” Robin chuckles, and one of Glenn’s hands pokes at the back of his head in protest.

“If you stop, I’ll bite you.”

“Promise?” Robin mutters, and Glenn chuckles quietly. “Seriously, I’m not gonna let you fall asleep here.” When Glenn protests, Robin tugs lightly at his hair. “Angel, you’re gonna fuck up your back sleeping on the couch, and I don’t want to hear about it all day tomorrow.”

“Hey, I’m not an old man,” Glenn says as he pushes himself to sit up, now face-to-face with Robin, “like some people I could name.”

“You haven’t thought this through, that’s all I’m saying. Who’s gonna kick me awake at two a.m if you’re not there?“ Robin leans in and touches their foreheads together. “Can you really risk me getting used to having blankets?”

Glenn rolls his eyes, but leans in to peck Robin’s lips. “You’re an asshole.”

“I love you, too.”

“Fine. But carry me,” Glenn retorts. “I’m comfortable.”

Robin thinks for a moment, before scooting forward on the couch and nearly toppling Glenn over. “C'mon, help me out a little.”

Glenn grins as though this was his plan all along. The man's a big fan of the long con. As he tucks himself back into Robin's neck, Robin is getting his arms under Glenn's thighs and hoisting him up, barely-covered grunt and all. Glenn laughs into his neck.

“I'll drop you right here, I swear to God,” Robin mutters, jumping a bit to adjust Glenn up more comfortably.

“Nooo,” Glenn whines, arms tightening around Robin's neck. Robin's almost positive Glenn can feel his heart flutter happily in his chest.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

_**Glenn** _

The day has finally come when schedules align to let Penny come over and have dinner with Glenn, Nick, and Robin. While he’s been the main one pushing to get this meetup to happen, Glenn is feeling a little on edge. Penny is intimidating. Big-shot lawyer, which normally wouldn’t vibe with Glenn, but she fights deportations and such, so he’ll make an exception. Stupid tall like the rest of her stupid family, and fond of very high heels, which is badass in the abstract but kinda contributes to making Glenn feel like he should be sitting at the kid’s table. Real sharp gaze when she’s sizing you up. Obviously way better at seeing through bullshit than most, and most includes Robin. 

If Glenn’s being honest with himself - and if you can’t be honest with yourself while taking a soak and toke, when can you be? - the most intimidating thing about Penny is the way she was married to Robin for so damn long and they still get along so well. He’s listened to Robin explain it, and in the abstract he gets that sometimes things just run their course. But it’s hard to forget that the woman has known Robin since he was in college, she was his first big love, she gave him a son... there’s just a lot that Glenn’s not gonna compete with. 

It doesn’t help either that when Penny arrives at the apartment that evening, she’s come straight from work in an expensive-looking tailored suit, full face of makeup, and heels. Glenn feels like she’s about to ask if he understands the charges against him, but no sooner does Penny get the door closed than she kicks her shoes off, throws her blazer over the back of the couch, and pulls her hair back into a messy bun. The steel drops out of her spine and she gives a big yawn, not bothering to cover her mouth. Glenn’s not sure he’d recognize her on the street if he hadn’t just watched her transform.

Robin comes out from the kitchen and catches Glenn staring at Penny as she sits on the floor to peel her stockings off her legs. He chuckles. “Yeah I’m used to living with semi-nudists. Glad you’re making yourself at home, PJ.” 

“What am I supposed to do, honey, wear the whole battle rattle when I’m not getting paid for it? I don’t play that,” Penny says as she crosses the room to Robin. 

He gives her a warm squeeze and turns to Glenn with a smile. “One Cent doesn’t play that.”

“Nice,” Glenn manages, but there’s a weird spike of discomfort somewhere behind his sternum. He’s suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s been with Robin for barely half a year. By the time he’s been with Robin as long as Penny was, he’ll be old as hell. Robin will be old as _balls._

Dinner takes his mind off the uneasy moment. The four of them have a legitimately enjoyable time. Penny is a hilarious storyteller, a great listener, even brings Nick out of his shell a bit. After Nick excuses himself to his room, the adults move to the balcony to enjoy the unseasonably warm evening. Glenn is smoking while Penny and Robin both have cocktails, and the conversation’s relaxed and casual. It’s a good vibe, and Glenn can definitely see what drew Robin to this woman in the first place. 

The opposite, with all due respect to the man he loves, is a little harder to envision. Glenn decides to just go for it, because dancing around awkwardness is never his style. “So Penny, one ten to another, how’d this guy ever manage to get in your pants? He was eating oatmeal, and you were like, damn, I’d let that white boy balance _my_ checkbook?”

Penny looks puzzled. “Oh, Robin, you didn’t tell him? Okay, I have to do this.” Robin lets out a despairing moan.

“Connor,” Penny says, dictating into her phone, “I need highlights from your early nineties Robin folder as soon as possible. Love, comma, Mom.” 

“What’s a Robin folder?” Glenn asks.

“Oh, Connor has a world-class collection of embarrassing pictures,” Penny says. “That kid is organized with his blackmail material. And everything else, really. For his eighth birthday, he asked for a label maker.”

“Wait, do you have a folder? What’s in it?” 

“Naturally, Connor has a Penny folder,” Penny responds. “What you should really be asking me is: what’s in the _Glenn_ folder?”

Glenn gives her a side-eye. “How do you know that there even is a Glenn folder? Wait, have you seen it? What _is_ in it?”

Penny doesn’t respond, because her phone is lighting up with messages and she’s muttering as she opens them. “Perfect, yup, good one. Oh, I don’t know where to start. Glenn, come sit by me.” 

She pats the cushion beside her. He’s been on the loveseat with Robin, so he doesn’t see until he gets up that Robin has finished off his drink very fast and is currently looking at Penny with wounded betrayal in his eyes. This is definitely going to be good. Glenn leans over so he can get a good look at the screen, but Penny simply hands the phone to him and sits back.

It takes Glenn a minute to get his mind around what he’s seeing, and he flips back and forth through the half-dozen pictures with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t usually think a ton about college-age Robin, or really, most eras of Robin before they got together. When Robin describes stuff from his twenties, Glenn just kinda pictures the Robin he currently knows in whatever setting and scene. He definitely did not picture this. 

Glenn takes a very long drag on his joint, tips his head back, and exhales toward the night sky as the other two watch in silence. “Penelope,” Glenn says, finally. “This is an entire-ass club kid.”

Penny nods sympathetically. “This is information you are entitled to, Glenn, as a boyfriend. Otherwise, it’s fraud.”

Glenn flips through the pictures again, turns the phone so she can see which one he’s looking at. “This is my favorite, I think. The shirt is mesh but the vest is vinyl. The whole look is really all over the place on breathability.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Penny nods. “We call that one Earring Magic Robin.”

Glenn touches the screen to zoom in. “Holy shit, that is an earring. I didn’t know you had pierced ears, baby.” 

“That’s not all he had pierced,” Penny notes. Robin has stopped looking at them and buried his face in his hands at this point.

“Here,” Penny says, leaning over to skip to another pic. “Try to guess what he’s on in this picture. If you only guess one thing, you’re automatically wrong.”

“I can’t handle it,” Glenn says with growing delight. “Look at this tall drink of disaster bisexual. He is fucking _partying._ Where was I for this?”

“In the early nineties? Chuck E. Cheese, presumably,” Robin mumbles into his hands. 

“Oh yeah,” Glenn says. “I do remember thinking glow sticks were cool though, we could have vibed on that. No wonder you listen to so much EDM. I thought it was just your normal level of music crimes.”

Robin suddenly sits back up, claims Penny’s drink for himself, and finishes it in one swig. ”It was the style at the time in certain circles,” he says with abrupt defiance as he sets the glass down. “I regret nothing.”

“Well, you can’t regret what you don’t remember, honey,” Penny says helpfully. Robin loses his temporarily dignified composure and starts laughing, which sets off the others as well. 

“I just want credit,” Penny protests. “I saw the raw material for a functional human somewhere in _that._ ” 

“Yeah, I’m doing my best, but I still can’t picture you dating that baby raver,” Glenn says.

“Oh hell no. I mean, he tried, but I told him to get his shit together fully and thoroughly before he had the audacity to approach me again.”

“You said it more nicely than that,” Robin adds, “But you were right. Things were starting to get out of hand.” 

Penny nods. “You owe me.”

“No arguments here.” Robin smiles fondly at her and Glenn gets a hot stab of jealousy right under his solar plexus again. The specific expression on Robin’s face is one Glenn thought was only for him. 

He hands Penny her phone back, sits back down on the loveseat and slings his legs onto Robin’s lap. “So basically, the easily-controlled horny idiot thing is something you were born with, huh?”

“It sounds nicer if you call it being a fool for love,” Robin says, and he turns that warm look on Glenn that he turned on Penny before and it doesn’t help that he’s looking at Glenn with that soft expression _now_. It makes it worse, and Glenn finds he can’t bring himself to look Robin in the eyes.

When they finally call it a night, Penny heads home after a hug from each of them and a promise to get together again sometime. Glenn helps load the dishwasher, which might be a side effect of how worn down he is with containing all the competing emotions of the evening. It’d be so much fucking easier if Penny sucked, then they could sit around and talk shit about her. But Glenn genuinely enjoys her, and it’s making all this bullshit even more complicated than it already was. 

“Penny’s pretty rad,” Glenn says casually as they finish up in the kitchen. “How’d you fuck that one up, again?”

“For obvious reasons, I’ve never been sure how I pulled it off in the first place,” Robin says. “I’m ready for further mockery of my fashion sense, by the way.”

“Nah, I’ll let you off the hook,” Glenn says as they head toward the bedroom. “Once I got over the shock, it was pretty cute.”

Robin flops back onto the bed, flat on his back and looking at the ceiling, as Glenn gets undressed for bed. “I thought I was so cool and mature. The Internet was nothing at that point, bars were where you found your people, and I just jumped on everybody like an excited puppy.”

Glenn lies down on the bed too, diagonal and lower so he can lay his head back on Robin’s stomach. Robin’s a lean guy overall, but he’s got a pleasant softness at the midsection. He started saying some shit about a diet exactly one time, when he found Glenn standing shirtless in the kitchen eating raw cookie dough with one hand and spray can cheese with the other. He’d started his usual grumbling about some people having supernatural metabolisms and wandered off. Thankfully, he never brought it up again. If he ever does, Glenn is going to have to man up and admit how much he enjoys using Robin’s stomach as a pillow. 

He can feel Robin laugh a little. “I did have fun, don’t get me wrong. It’s just in retrospect… good God. A puppy playing in traffic on the freeway, at best. Very lucky that nothing really bad happened.”

“So Penny was the one who housetrained your dumb puppy ass?”

“I mean, yes and no. I was pretty close to failing out of school entirely, I hope I would have pulled it together. But sometimes you see how somebody else is looking at you and it’s scary. And even baby PJ could be pretty scary.”

Robin’s hand reaches down to play idly with Glenn’s hair, curling pieces around his fingers and scratching gently at the scalp in just the right way. “I needed a friend really badly, and I got pretty lucky with her. It was years before she told me she’d reconsider the whole dating thing. I’d honestly mostly forgotten. I was already such a different person from the one she met. And both of them were so different from the person you met, too.”

Glenn doesn’t realize he’s sighing until too late. Robin sits up to get a better look at him. “What’s on your mind, gorgeous?”

“Feeling late to the party, I guess. I missed a lot of Robin time.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about Penny. I thought you two hit it off.”

“Yeah, because we’re the same damn person, baby. It’s just narcissism.” 

Now it’s Robin’s turn to sigh. He sits up all the way with a slight grunt, crosses his legs, and re-settles them so the back of Glenn’s head is resting in his lap. “All right, I’m ready. Please tell me about how you and Penny are the same person.” 

“First off, we’re both super successful.”

“Uh, okay,” Robin says. “Not very similar fields, but okay, you can have that one.”

“Both hot as hell,” Glenn adds.

“Nobody’s arguing about that part,” Robin says amiably. “I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” 

“We both love animals—“

“I think everybody loves animals,” Robin objects. 

“—both look great in anything,” Glenn continues.

“That’s just pointing out that you’re both attractive again, that doesn’t count as a separate one.” 

“Both have tattoos and smoke weed—“

“Not even close.”

“And I’m not counting that she’s obviously a freak in the sheets, because that’s baseline for you, but we’ve got the same kinks, even. She’s clearly totally into that _real_ nasty—“

“I’m gonna stop you right there if that’s all right,” Robin manages. “Getting a little off topic.” 

He drums his fingers on Glenn’s head thoughtfully. “I do think I get what you’re saying here. I love you, okay? I’m not denying that Penny’s important to me, she's my oldest friend at this point. And I’ll grant you that you’re not polar opposites in every conceivable way. But I don’t want Penny, I want you.”

“Right now you do.” It’s defensive and stupid but once Glenn’s said it, he wants to hear what Robin will say. “You used to want Penny, too.”

Robin’s hands stop moving on Glenn’s scalp. “I see.” He waits for Glenn to continue speaking. It’s one of those dirty tricks he’s already figured out in their time together, to just leave the silence hanging there until Glenn can’t tolerate it anymore and has to keep talking. 

“She did everything right,” Glenn says. His stomach is twisting up in knots and he had no idea this was bothering him this bad, but it’s too late now. “And it still fell apart anyway. I fuck things up pretty much constantly, so...”

“No, no, no,” Robin is saying before Glenn even finishes talking. “Come here, come here.” He tugs at Glenn’s shoulders to get him to sit up, and Glenn reluctantly obliges. 

Once they’re both seated face to face, knees touching, Robin brushes Glenn’s hair out of the way and searches his eyes. He takes Glenn’s hands in his firmly. “Nobody fucked things up with me and Penny, all right? We didn’t have a failed marriage, we had a pretty good marriage that reached the end of its lifespan.”

“And then you kept being best friends,” Glenn points out. He wishes he was sounding a little less sulky, but he’s finding himself prodding at the topic like a sore tooth. 

“Sure, eventually. We had... missteps. The time we spent trying to split the difference between marriage and friendship, that’s where the fucking things up part comes in.” Robin lets go of Glenn’s hands to twist his fingers unconsciously in the hem of his own shirt. “If it makes you feel better, you can have as much detail on that slow-motion trainwreck as you want. That part, I regret. The marriage part and the divorce part, I don’t. Does that make sense?”

Glenn doesn’t answer right away, or look at Robin’s searching eyes. He’s still thinking about all that and where it leaves them. Robin wraps his arms around Glenn and lies back so that Glenn ends up fully sprawled along Robin’s body, his head resting on his chest. Robin grunts dramatically. “Jesus, you’re heavy when you’re dead weight.”

Glenn finds a small smile on his lips despite himself. Robin bitches about this every time, but he still insists on pulling Glenn on top of himself and wrapping his arms around him like he’s a kid with a goddamn teddy bear or something. 

“One way or another, nothing lasts forever,” Robin finally says to the top of Glenn’s head. “You could walk out of here tomorrow, and it would hurt like hell, but I still wouldn’t regret being with you. Whatever time I get with you, I’ll take it. And you really don’t need to be jealous of Penny. I promise, she doesn’t know me like you do.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Glenn’s head. “Plus, I go all in on one person at a time, for a long time. That’s my deal. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“Because you’re a horny idiot for love.” Glenn mumbles contentedly. He said the thing, he poked the sore spot, and they’re still both here. He can already feel the tension dropping out of his body.

Robin sighs, but it’s a peaceful sound. “Yep. Close enough.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Nick_ **

In the past year, Nick Close has dealt with more shit than he cares to contemplate. He’s been kidnapped (multiple times), seen people die in magical and mundane ways, dealt pain to others and taken some himself. Watched his dad fall apart, bad, just at the moment they were finally back together again. Came to understand, up close and personal, how many times it was sheer luck that he and Glenn both made it back to Earth. 

After all that, it seems massively unfair that he’s having a hard time with something like _high school._

Eighth grade hadn’t been a delight either, but at least at his old school, he more or less knew everybody. The new school is at least twice as big, and Nicholas Floyd Close does not enjoy being just a face in the crowd. The halls are so packed between classes that he feels like he spends the whole time with his face crammed against random backpacks, trying to get to his next period like a salmon swimming upstream.

The actual classes are the usual bullshit, and Nick mostly rates those based on whether any of his friends are there. This quarter he ended up with Grant in PE class with him and that’s it. It’s better than nobody having his back, but it’s not like they can exactly copy each other’s homework. In the rest of his classes, it’s total strangers. His biology lab partner might be cool or might be psycho, he hasn’t decided yet. He sat by her the first day because she dresses like Siouxsie Sioux, but she’s a little too good at dissecting dead stuff, so the jury’s still out on Austin.

High school’s only part of it, and again, it’s such bullshit that any part of this situation should get under the skin of a guy as chill as Nick. Nonetheless, there's no denying it: Glenn has committed the severe party foul of crashing Nick’s space. For years, Nick could escape next door to get his homework done or just chill without interruption. He’d had a pretty good system going: Crazy Nick for when Glenn was around, then Calm Nick to recover in the downtime. Then Faerun happened, and Connor left, and suddenly the balance is completely off. Crazy Nick barely gets to come out anymore. He might as well be back with the purple robes.

And then there’s Robin. Nick hadn’t really pictured Glenn pairing off again, to be honest. If he were a betting man, he would have put his money on one of the stray girlfriends that had come and gone over the years. They usually made it about three months before they realized they weren’t getting any more of Glenn’s time or attention than they already were. But one of them could totally have figured out a way to stick around, if that was her goal. And more power to that theoretical her, because much as he loves his dad, Nick can’t exactly argue that Glenn made much of an effort.

The ones Nick liked least had been the ones who’d tried to get to Glenn through him. It’d start with some questions about school or whatever, and then they’d start grilling him about Glenn and if Nick thought they should hang out sometime just the three of them, like a _fun family thing._

Generally he could rebuff them a couple times and they’d get the message, but a couple of years ago, he’d fully snapped on one. Jasmine? Ivy? it was some kind of plant name. She’d been waiting for Glenn to get home from a show, and had ruined most of Nick’s night sighing and pestering him about whether Glenn was doing anything for her for Valentine’s Day. After she’d refused to take “no,” “definitely not,” and “I’m not sure he knows it’s February” for an answer, Nick had just turned off the TV, looked straight at her, and said: “You’re never gonna be my stepmom.”

He’d gotten up and gone to his room after that, so the fallout when Glenn got home was only faintly audible from across the apartment. But that was the last time he’d seen Willow or whatever. 

After that incident, there hadn’t been a lot of visitors who showed up enough for Nick to learn their names. If anything, he’d hear Glenn kicking somebody out at three in the morning, and neither of them would say anything about it at breakfast. Suited Nick just fine. Fewer names to learn and time to himself whenever Glenn wasn’t around. If he got bored, he’d go see what Connor was up to next door. It was a good system, until Glenn had thoroughly and totally wrecked it, basically overnight. 

Okay, so Connor leaving for college isn’t Glenn’s fault. But now Robin actually talks to Nick, instead of maintaining a polite, vaguely puzzled distance. And half the time that Nick goes next door to get some peace and quiet, Glenn finds his way over shortly after to pester him, or Robin, or both. And although it’s good that Glenn has someone else close to hand for his midnight brainwaves, Nick finds that he misses them. It’s been weeks since his dad suggested over breakfast that he skip school so they can have a beach day. Months since he shook Nick awake in the middle of the night because he wanted huevos rancheros and the only place that makes them up to his standards is in Tijuana. 

He doesn’t want to jam with the Glenn Close Duo lately, either, but that’s nobody's fault. It usually happens around this time of year as Glenn gets less and less downtime between gigs. Maybe Nick should start his own band. Or maybe he should try some different things now that he’s at this new school. Add another layer to the rocker Nick energy. Track and field Nick? Theater Nick? Mathlete Nick? Much to consider.

Nick was venting about all this to Connor a couple nights ago, and it led to this weekend's plan. There’s a band playing on Connor’s campus, and they’re gonna go see the show and cut loose a little. 

Grant’s dad had looked alarmed when Connor rolled up in one of the GC3’s old vans with some super questionable bumper stickers on the back. Connor apparently nailed the handshake, though, because Grant was still allowed to come out with them. The ride to campus flies by, music blasting from the speakers and the three of them yelling conversation over it. Well, mostly Nick and Connor catching up, and Grant chiming in now and then. He’s not the chattiest dude, but Nick’s always liked his vibe. 

Once they get to campus, Connor has them drop their overnight stuff at his dorm and then walks with them to the student union. It’s a big wooden barn that’s already packed with college kids, music thumping from the windows and a buzzy energy moving through the crowd that’s spilled outside. There are strings of prayer flags looped from the rafters, and Christmas lights provide most of the illumination.

“Fuck yeah,” Nick declares. “What would you normally be doing right now, G-man? If you were home?”

Grant sticks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and shrugs. “Playing on the Switch? Going to bed?”

“Exactly. Exactly!” Nick’s too excited, his walk’s starting to turn into a skipping run until he reins himself back in. Connor shoots him an amused glance. He bypasses the main doors, leads them to an adjoining building, and uses a key to access a space where they can cut through to backstage. The show’s already in progress, and is loud as hell from where they’re standing. Most people in the audience have pink wristbands, but Connor hands green ones to Nick and Grant. “I said you were reviewing the band for your school paper,” he shouts over the sounds of the band. “So just be cool.”

A couple of other college kids wave Connor over as soon as they get inside the venue proper. Connor does the introductions like it's no big deal, but Nick can tell the others are a little put off by having kids at the show. Well, fuck 'em, thinks Nick. This _kid_ has seen and done things they couldn't even imagine. Not just Faerun, either. How many of these college kids can say they've been backstage at the Troubadour? Nick practically grew up in green rooms, and they were at better venues than this. He was born to chill. 

Although it’s definitely a basic college band, the show itself isn’t bad. Amateur hour for sure, but they have good energy and the lead singer might actually make it big with better backup. Even though they’re decent, it only takes a few songs before Nick’s kinda over just standing around listening. This is doing nothing to burn off his pent up energy, and he’s way too sober for this time of the evening. Connor’s not gonna be any help on that front, and there’s no way Grant’s holding, but Nick’s been at enough backstage parties to know how to pull this off. All he has to do is wander casually over to somewhere people have put down their red plastic cups, then pick one up like he’s entitled to it and stroll away. He sidles up to a promising collection of drinks on top of a piano and snags one, then considers and grabs a second for Grant. They’re both pretty full of some kind of punch, fortunately. Beer is the worst, but beggars can’t be choosers. Nick strides away at an unhurried rate, projecting an air of somebody who just completed a minor errand.

Grant’s on his phone when Nick comes over and looks at the plastic cups dubiously. 

“Grant!” Nick yells over the music. “Look how fast I can chug this!” 

“Wait, Nick—” 

But Grant’s too late to keep Nick from slamming the sickly-sweet drink. There’s a hefty pour of vodka in there, and Nick has to cough for a couple seconds after he’s done. He recovers his cool and offers the other cup to Grant, who shakes his head. Nick chugs that one, too, and grins at his skeptical friend.

He and Grant discuss the band for a minute before Nick loses his train of thought mid-sentence. He’s already a little unsteady on his feet, and his eyes are heavy. Suddenly the music has become something he’s feeling more than hearing, like the bass is using his rib cage as an amp to thump through the room. Nick feels a panic start to rise in him. Or maybe it’s the punch.

“I want to sit down,” he yells over the music, and grabs Grant’s hand to pull him through the crowd. It’s seriously disorienting in the dark, maneuvering through a forest of moving bodies. Somehow, Nick finds the back of the building, where they finally break free of the throng and have some breathing room. He flops down in an ancient orange armchair and yanks at Grant’s arm to come sit next to him. Both of them can fit into the seat, though Nick throws one leg over the arm of the chair on his side to make more room. 

“This is a good song,” Nick shouts into Grant’s ear. “I can’t decide if it’s sad, though. Y’know?”

He tries to just ride things out, but Nick feels like he’s being pressed back into the chair by acceleration. The vibe is getting away from him. This is just all too much to take in. It’s loud and the air is thick with alcohol and sweat and skunk, and it doesn’t matter that most of these people are technically teenagers, they look pretty adult from where he’s sitting.

He might possibly have overdone it a little for the sake of looking cool. Now he can’t think of words to say, and he can’t pay attention to the music. It’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better as the rest of the booze hits. Sitting in a chair with his mouth hanging open was not what he had in mind for wilding out. He’s gonna pull himself together though. He just—

Time skips ahead suddenly and Nick realizes he’s being carried out of the student union by Connor. Okay, a little blackout. Not the end of the world. He can bounce back from this. As soon as they step out of the doorway and onto the quad, Nick feels way better. They’re still downwind of some nasty vape clouds, and the music is still booming out through the windows, but it’s infinitely calmer. Connor sets him on the grass.

“Nicholas,” Connor says. He gives Nick a little shake to get his attention. “Are you gonna throw up, or are you good?”

Nick considers this, burps loudly, takes a deep breath, and gives him a wobbly thumbs-up. Connor sighs, lets go of him and takes a knee. "Let's get outta here."

Nick climbs up onto Connor’s back like he’s done a million times. He thinks he catches a weird look from Grant, although things are a little swirly so he might be wrong. But whatever, it's not like a little kid thing, it's like a bro thing. Connor stands up, carrying Nick piggyback, and looks over at Grant. “Grant, you good?”

Grant nods, so Connor nods back and hikes Nick a little higher onto his back. Nick’s kind of awake, but holding on feels like a lot of extra effort. “Let’s go.”

Connor doesn't say anything as they walk back toward the dorm, Nick’s head bouncing on his shoulder with every step. Grant doesn't say anything either, although that's more normal for him. Nick doesn’t say anything because he’s not 100% on that no-barf guarantee. It makes for a very quiet and awkward walk. Weird vibe across the board. 

Once they’re back, Connor carries Nick to the common room and tosses him onto one of the broken-down couches. Nick's head is spinning and he feels like if he could just fall asleep, he'd feel a lot better. He wants to take his shoes off, but his feet are very far away.

Connor grabs a bag of chips from the kitchen area, tosses them to Grant, and then grabs a couple of plastic cups and inspects them. He grimaces, puts them back in the sink, and rummages around in the fridge until he finds a water bottle. Connor puts it on the coffee table near Nick. “I’ll be back.” 

Nick sits up with some effort as Connor walks out. He grabs the bottle and drains about half the water in one gulp. It hits his stomach in a cold jolt and almost comes back up. It takes a minute, but he manages to power through. 

“I can head out, if you want,” Grant offers quietly. “It’s still pretty early, my dad could come out and get me.”

“Grant! No, why would you leave?” Nick is practically panicking, but he tries to play it cool. “Stick around, man, come on.”

“I just mean, we don’t have to hang out more right now if you don’t want to.” 

“Of course I want to hang out with you, dude, why else would I be here?” 

“I mean, Connor…” Grant trails off, and Nick is looking at him with evident confusion. “I thought maybe you had a crush on Connor or something,” Grant admits in his low mutter.

“What? Ew, no, why?” Nick sits up so that Grant can fully appreciate the depth of disgust and scorn on his face. It would be more effective if his eyes could focus a little better. 

“He’s all… long hair and rockstar and stuff,” Grant ventures. 

“First off, ew.” Nick replies. “Connor is basically my brother. Secondly, you just described my dad, so— and it bears repeating— _ew._ I like boys that are… hmm.” 

He manages another sip of water. “Wait, wait,” he says suddenly. “Did I just say that out loud? About boys?”

“Yeah,” Grant says. “It’s cool.” 

“Of course it’s fucking cool,” Nick says. “But thanks for saying it, anyway.”

They sit in silence for a moment, but it’s a restful silence. It’s one thing to assume somebody knows a thing, another to actually say it out loud. Grant’s cool, though, and he’s probably Nick’s only friend who could get through that discussion in so few words. Sometimes it’s nice not to have to talk something to death. 

Connor walks back into the common room with a couple of water bottles. He tosses one to Grant and sits down across from them with the other in his hands. “Nicholas, you good?” 

Nick lets out a gnarly burp. “I think so?”

“Awesome, I didn’t want to say this twice.” He leans in to look Nick right in the face. “You fucked up.” Nick makes a protesting noise. “No, shut up. I went out on a limb for you and you screwed me over.”

“You’re not 21 either, dude,” Nick shoots back. He’s not exactly slurring, but he sounds a little sulkier and younger than he’d like. 

Connor’s picking at the water bottle label unhappily. “Come on, dude, you’re five years younger than me and half my size. Just because I’m not here as your babysitter doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for you.” 

Nick is steaming at the hypocrisy. The dude was selling weed at age sixteen, but he won’t throw Nick a gram every now and then because he’s supposedly too young? Robin’s all uptight about Nick drinking and smoking, and Glenn’s even started to make vague allusions to moderation, and Nick can’t think of the last time he saw one of them go an evening without a cocktail or a blunt. He’s surrounded by people going _do as I say, not as I do_ , and it’s not fucking fair.

Connor takes a swig of water and adds, “You gotta watch my back here too, Nick. I gotta be able to trust you.” He rubs his face with his hands. “I’m gonna say it.”

Nick groans. “Don’t.”

“Nope, I gotta.”

“I’m begging you.”

“I’m not mad, _I’m just disappointed.”_

Nick throws himself back against the couch dramatically, then rolls his eyes. “Come on, Connor.” He hits himself on the chest and burps a little. “I’m scolded, okay? You made your point, give it a rest.” 

“I’m serious, Nick. I can’t bring you places if you’re gonna wild out on me.”

“Don’t act like you’re still in charge of me,” Nick shoots back. “You don’t even work for Glenn anymore.”

“Nick, shut the fuck up for a second.” Connor snaps. He stands up halfway out of the chair reflexively, then forces himself to sit back down. “I know I’m not your chaperone. I just wanted to hang out. I haven’t gotten to see you much lately, and that sucks.” 

“It does suck,” Nick admits reluctantly. “Why’d you have to peace out right when your dad starts basically living at my place? It blows, I can’t even smoke around him. Of course I’m gonna get wild when I get out of lock-down.” 

“Nick, my man,” Connor says wearily. “I’m not gonna get into it about you being the world’s tiniest stoner right now.” Nick kicks vaguely at Connor, but misses. “But I can’t fucking believe you can’t figure out how to smoke around my dad without getting caught. _Especially_ these days, are you kidding me?” He scoffs. “Just tell him Glenn’s doing push-ups next door or something, he’ll be gone. You’re smarter than this.”

“When did you change your policy toward me getting away with shit?” Nick asks belligerently.

“When our dads ganged up on us, dude. Obviously.” Connor says. “You gotta update your team roster man, it’s not Wrights and Closes, it’s you and me versus them now.”

“Oh.” Nick smiles at that. “They don’t stand a chance.”

“Exactly,” Connor says. “Look, you’re fourteen, dude. You’re old enough to realize I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. And you’re too old to act like a toddler who got into the cookie jar any time you get around booze. Just be cool.”

Nick nods sheepishly. “Sorry, dude. My bad.” 

“It’s cool.” Connor stands up and pulls Nick into a big hug. “I am gonna ban you from campus though, it’s clearly way too much excitement for your dumb little ass.” 

Connor releases Nick from the hug and drops him back on the couch. “Now apologize to Grant. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He walks out of the common room without another word, leaving the two younger boys sitting awkwardly in silence. 

Nick flops backward onto the couch. He shoves his feet against Grant’s leg in a half-aggressive, half-companionable way. “Sorry I ruined everything.” 

“It’s cool,” Grant says. “I mean, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but it was a good show,” Nick points out. “We drove all the way out here and then I fucked it up. You got dressed up and everything.” He lifts his head up briefly. “You look good. Cool belt.” 

“Thanks.”

“Next time we do this, I’ll be chill,” Nick says with a hiccup. “We’ll hang out more.” 

“I thought Connor said he wouldn’t bring you on campus anymore,” Grant reminds him reluctantly. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Nick says. _“Never_ with Connor means like, not for two weeks. For a first offense.”

He doesn’t notice that Connor walks back in during the last part until it’s too late. When he looks over, though, Connor just shrugs. 

“Yeah, of course. I’d miss you too much.” Connor kicks off his shoes and throws his long legs onto the coffee table. “You gotta bring Grant next time though, Nick, you owe him one.” 

“For sure.” The end of the word cracks into a higher register as Nick feels a queasy ache in his stomach. His mouth is watering and he knows what comes next. Nick lurches to his feet, and stumbles down the hall toward the bathroom.

 _“What did we learn, Nicholas?_ ” Connor calls after him. Nick hears Connor’s delighted cackle, followed by Grant’s low chuckle. Those assholes. 

After he’s done, Nick splashes cold water on his face and dries off with a handful of brown paper towels. Fluorescents are nobody’s friend, but it’s not the lighting making the Nick in the mirror look like a sickly child. Maybe Connor has a point. Maybe Nick’s getting too old for this shit. 

He’d noticed earlier there were some old board games in the common room, and he could definitely fuck with Clue or Risk right now. The guys would probably be down to play. Nick pulls down at his eyelid to check how bloodshot his eyes are, then sighs. He looks like hell, but he feels way better already, and the night’s still kinda young. 


	6. Chapter 6

***  
Just some boys goofin around.   
  



	7. Chapter 7

**_Robin_ **

The only time of year that Robin misses New England is when it’s back-to-school season in the fall. Palm trees don’t do much to mark the end of summer, and there’s no reason to break out scarves and sweaters when the average temperature is still in the seventies. But Angelenos must be sensing the turning of the year anyway, because the GC3’s schedule is getting busier by the week. He’s gotten used to Glenn being busy on Friday and Saturday nights, but now Thursdays and Sundays are starting to book up, too. And then there’s the long stretch after Thanksgiving and through the New Year, when Glenn’s going to be on tour. Robin’s mainly ignoring that right now. They all are. 

More shows for Glenn means more nights of Robin sleeping at the Close residence. Both Glenn and Nick insist it’s totally fine for a fourteen year old to be home alone overnight, but it doesn’t feel quite right to Robin. So he’d just agreed out loud, and then went to bed in Glenn’s room the next time it had come up. If anybody’s noticed a trend, they haven’t mentioned it. Tonight’s no different, and Robin does one last walk-through of the apartment to round up dishes and laundry before he heads to bed. 

His feet hit something as he gets under the covers, and he sits up again and turns the light back on to investigate. It’s been a few days, he should have known he needed to start with the archaeological dig. Five minutes later, he’s finally finished banishing Glenn’s detritus from the bed: half of a cookie that’s probably an edible, several guitar picks, three socks, two of Robin’s shirts, a library book about close encounters of the third kind, a pair of handcuffs, hair ties, pens, an empty plastic lighter, and Glenn’s lucky rabbit’s foot. Robin sighs, shakes out the sheets one last time, and gets back into the bed. 

He wakes up hours later to the sound of a crash and a muttered curse, and sits up in the darkness. The clock tells him it’s 3:27 a.m. It’s a ridiculous time for Glenn to get home from a show that should have been over by midnight. Glenn disentangles himself from the mess on the floor and flops on top of the covers with a muffled giggle. 

“I’m awake,” Robin says. Glenn crawls up the bed to rest his head on Robin’s chest, bringing along a cloud of alcohol fumes, stale smoke, and sweat. “You didn’t drive, right?” 

“’course not,” Glenn mumbles into his chest. “We can get the car in the morning.” 

“You’ll have to do it, sweetheart, I’ve got work tomorrow.” Robin tries not to do the mental math on how long he has until his alarm goes off. He rests his hand on Glenn’s head and feels the sticky residue of the hair product Glenn uses for stage shows, mixed with the sweat he works up during a performance. “Do you want a shower?” Robin asks softly. “You hate when this wax stuff gets all over the bed.”

“Don't care,” Glenn mutters. 

“The show was good?” 

“Usual.” Glenn yawns. “Good crowd. Lots of fans.” 

“Lots of fans buying free drinks?” Robin’s starting to realize that Glenn isn’t just tired and tipsy but full-on wasted. “Seems like you shut the place down afterward.” 

He reaches down to Glenn’s hip and confirms that Glenn’s still wearing his leather pants. He must have come straight off stage to the bar, then straight home afterward. No wonder he smells like a nightclub floor. Robin uses his finger and thumb to pull out a bar napkin from Glenn’s back pocket. He doesn’t need to turn the light on to know there’s at least one phone number on it. He tosses it off the side of the bed and rests his hand back on Glenn’s hip. 

“S’ my ass,” Glenn mumbles helpfully.

Robin stares at the ceiling. Let him pass out and risk him waking up again in an hour? Or start the wrestling match of getting wasted Glenn ready for bed? “Tell me you at least took off your shoes.” 

“You take off _your_ shoes, ass.”

Robin sits up and turns the light on so he can confirm that Glenn’s resting his nasty combat boots right on top of the duvet. He rubs his hands over his face to try to wake up, then moves to the end of the bed to take the boots off. The laces are soaked with something alcoholic and they’re a pain in the ass to untie. “Why did you go so hard?” Robin asks. “You’re going to feel awful tomorrow.”

He finally manages to pull the first boot off with no help from Glenn, who may have already fallen asleep. “You keep saying you’re going to come right home and then this happens again. What’s going on?” 

Robin yanks the other boot free and wrinkles his nose at the smell. When he moves back up the bed to try to get the pants sorted out, Glenn is drumming a complex rhythm on his own stomach. He opens one eye to look at Robin, then closes it again. “Bad energy after the show. Didn’t want to come home all mean.” 

“I see,” Robin says. Glenn’s a lot of things, but he’s not mean. Robin knows the mood he’s talking about, though, and it’s impossible to accommodate. Short-tempered, wired and tired at the same time, sick of people but needy. It's the same mood that Glenn usually brings home from rehearsal. Robin starts trying to wrestle Glenn out of his pants as he lies there drumming. “Did Dominic do something? Or Spike?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Glenn replies firmly. “Fuck ‘em both, seriously.” He starts trying to kick his pants off and nearly clocks Robin in the jaw. “Fuck managers. Fuck A&R men and also? Fuck record labels.”

“Stop helping,” Robin grumbles. He finally manages to get the pants all the way off, throws them on the floor, and turns his efforts to getting the blankets out from under Glenn. Glenn’s fully rag-dolled, but Robin eventually gets him under the covers and joins him there after turning off the lights. 

“Fuck promoters,” Glenn continues as he tucks himself into the curve of Robin’s body. “Fuck sound guys, fuck grabby people, fuck roadies.” He hiccups once, then groans and wriggles in to get himself comfortable. 

Robin’s trying to figure out how to get his head on the pillow without getting Glenn’s hair product all over his face. It takes a minute before he can get settled in again. “Glenn, I think you might hate your job.”

“Fuck my job,” Glenn yawns. Robin waits to see if he’s going to add anything, but he can feel Glenn’s breathing already getting deeper and slower. They’ll have to talk about it in the morning. Or rather, they’ll talk about it at dinner, because there’s no way Glenn is getting up when Robin does. Which is, Robin notes sadly, in two hours and ten minutes.

**_Glenn_ **

There are two meals worth sticking around for at the Stampler residence: pizza night and breakfast for dinner. Glenn meant to just drop Nick off for his sleepover, but when he saw Samantha chopping peppers, he sat down at the counter. Within ten minutes, he’s in charge of the dough. Within fifteen, he’s staged a kitchen coup and has flour all over his shirt.

“Samantha,” he chides. “Turn that oven up this instant. Don’t you dare bake a pizza crust at 350 degrees in my sight.” Samantha rolls her eyes at him, but obliges. 

Glenn likes Samantha, and she’s definitely the smartest person he knows in real life. The Stamplers love board games, and Glenn has never _once_ even come close to winning against Samantha. Ron tends to lose track of the rules, and TJ often wanders off. But every time Glenn thinks he’s found some devastating strategy, Samantha will make a move that renders his whole carefully built hand completely useless. She’s like that with everything: just when you think she’s not paying attention, it turns out she’s twelve steps ahead of you. 

Then there’s that other side to that supernatural intelligence, the occasional blind spots in her understanding of the world that make Samantha such a wildcard. Glenn will absolutely never forget the dinner when Henry realized she thought dinosaurs and humans existed at the same time. She’d listened politely to Henry’s lengthy explanation, then shrugged and said “you’re probably right.” Henry hadn’t looked satisfied by that, but he was calming down until Glenn had succumbed to temptation and said something about the Flintstones. Samantha had looked thoughtful, Henry had turned so red that he had to leave the table, and Glenn’s still not sure where she landed on that one. Completely worth it.

Glenn wants to show Samantha pics from their last movie night, but when he pulls out his phone, he’s got about ten increasingly furious messages from Dominic. Ah, shit. He forgot he was supposed to go to rehearsal after dropping Nick off. If he left right now, he’d make it to the last hour, and odds are good that Dominic will insist they stay a couple more. That means Glenn will get home much later than planned, and he’s already had some good ideas about how he and Robin could take advantage of having the place to themselves. The choice is simple, really. He texts Dominic that there’s been a family emergency and he’s not coming. Then he silences that particular conversation and pulls up the album to show Samantha. 

Whether it’s a growth spurt or just general teenage turbulence, lately Nick sleeps for nine or ten hours a night, sometimes more. So despite the fact that he genuinely digs movie night, the little dude’s only making it to the end of about half the movies they watch. Less, if he’s snuck off to vape beforehand. At their last movie night, he’d passed out on Robin per the usual; the two of them don’t hug or whatever, but sleepy Nick tends to sprawl across the whole couch, whether or not anyone else is already occupying it. He’d conked out with a lot of movie to go, and when the credits rolled and Glenn looked over, he’d caught a moment so good that he had to grab his phone: Robin trying manfully not to sob about Doc Holliday banishing Wyatt Earp from his side, Nick snoring in the puddle of drool he’d left on Robin’s knee. 

When Robin saw Glenn taking the picture, he’d given him an exasperated look. _Help me,_ he mouthed, pointing at Nick. _Leg’s asleep._

“Just dump him on the ground,” Glenn had suggested, none too quietly. “He’ll bounce.”

Robin looked scandalized, and the pics Glenn snapped after are great: Robin trying desperately to figure out how to get up from the couch with a numb leg and a hundred pounds of sleeping kid across his lap. When Robin finally figures it out, Nick’s being carried like a baby and looks about as old as Paeden. This does not match Nick’s preferred image of himself as the Most Interesting Ninth Grader In The World, which is exactly why Glenn saved the whole sequence into a new album labeled _Nicholas Blackmail_. Never too late to start. And it’s nice to have the pictures all in one place and easy to find, for when rehearsal is getting grueling and he has to remember why he puts up with this Trio bullshit in the first place. 

Once the first pizza is baking, they have a few minutes of downtime to just sit down and catch up. Samantha’s homemade blueberry lemonade would be better with some vodka in it, but Glenn can respect the house rules while he’s taking advantage of their hospitality. 

“I didn’t want to bring it up around Ronnie,” Samantha says. “But how is Nick doing with you being in a relationship again?”

Glenn was not expecting that. But for Samantha, he’s gonna make an effort. They started in an honest place, back further than most of their friends realize. 

He'd been really picky about finding the right space for Morgan. He’d wanted to be damn sure she got the best sunlight, the best view, the best neighbors. Nothing but the best for her. So he’d spent a lot of time wandering the rows and rows of other people's loved ones, smoking and thinking and doing his best to get this one last thing right.

He’d been walking past a mausoleum when a woman’s voice had pulled him away from his thoughts. He’d looked around and his eyes landed on a woman sitting by a well-tended older headstone, lilting through a song he couldn’t place. Yes, she seemed sad, but she'd also seemed comfortable. She turned as Glenn passed and gave him a small wave without interrupting her song.

Her presence had been part of what decided him on that area of the cemetery for Morgan. He’d seen the singing woman again after that on his visits, never more than once or twice a year, but enough that he missed her if she wasn’t there. He’d considered introducing himself, but somehow the moment never felt right. 

Then there’d been that time, a few years back, when he’d seen her at a fresh grave. It was down the path from her usual spot, and she hadn’t been singing. The pain from her had radiated in waves, and Glenn had steered well clear. Too fresh, too familiar.

The first conversation they ever had came about eight months later. They’d bumped into each other at a mandatory school orientation. Glenn spent most of the meeting distracted by how a middle school could have such incredibly cursed energy after the sun went down. After all the formalities had ended, he bumped into her at the lackluster coffee spread in the hall. He recognized her immediately, and he saw her puzzle for a second before she placed him, too. For an awkward minute they stood next to each other, staring blankly forward as they stirred sugar into styrofoam cups.

Glenn was the one who finally broke the silence. “Hey, you want to get dinner sometime? You getting back out there?”

A beat.

“Not really. Thanks.”

A beat. 

“Yeah. Me either, to tell you the truth.” 

Once that honesty was established, there was no point in walking it back when they reconnected again, years later. The problem is, his honest answer is kind of a mess. 

“There need to be more hours in the day,” he starts. “Because the Trio is nonstop this time of year."

Samantha nods and waits. She gets him, she knows this will tie back to her question eventually. 

“So that’s most evenings and weekends,” he continues, “which are the only times Nick has free, right? And whatever, we’ve always made it work, but now there’s Robin.” He picks up a bit of leftover dough to fiddle with as he thinks. 

“Don’t get me wrong, we can all hang out, but come on.” Glenn sighs. “One-on-one time matters. But there’s only one of… my one. And one of each of them. And one Trio. Feeling spread kinda thin, I guess.”

“It’s an adjustment,” Samantha agrees. But before she can add more, Ron appears, and she holds back whatever she was going to say. Instead, Samantha puts her arm around Ron's waist to pull him in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

Glenn smiles and looks down. That’s love, right there. Good for Ron. The two of them are chatting about normal family things and Glenn’s mostly tuning out when Ron turns to Glenn with a smile. “How are you enjoying being a stepfather?”

Glenn nearly chokes on his drink. Their earlier caution around the whole subject was misplaced, apparently. He looks to Samantha desperately for some backup, but he should have known better. She doesn’t generally interpret for Ron with his friends. And she shouldn’t have to, really, they all get Ron, but… he does share Glenn’s talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

“I’m not… I mean…” At least Robin isn't here to see him fumble this so bad. Glenn just thinks of Connor as _Connor,_ that assertive-as-hell teenager who lives next door. Connor’s been his dealer, his financial manager, his housekeeper, his chauffeur, one time his alibi. Glenn didn't acquire some special authority over the dude just by banging his dad. But it’s Ron, so this isn’t a trick question. He’s just excited to have somebody to compare stepfather notes with. Unfortunately, playing along isn’t in the cards today for Glenn. How to explain it without getting defensive? “Connor’s full-grown already, man, he’s off at college.”

Ron beams. “You must be very proud.”

Glenn glances between the Stamplers and their guileless, open expressions. That was too indirect, apparently. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s a good school.” Given how much he’s heard Robin enthuse about it, he should probably be able to come up with something else to add. Fortunately, the timer goes off, sending them scrambling to retrieve the pizza before the cheese starts to burn. 

At dinner, Glenn’s quietly absorbed in watching the family dynamics play out at the dinner table. It’s quieter than dinners with the Wrights and the Closes, but otherwise not that different. Samantha and TJ and Ron just look like a family to Glenn. TJ’s even picked up some Ron mannerisms by now, which are funny to see from a snarky teenager. After a couple hours with TJ’s dry sense of humor, Nick’s sarcastic streak is front and center. He’s always been kind of a tofu kid, he’ll pick up the flavor of whoever you put him next to. The two spend most of dinner flipping each other shit at top speed. They’re like a JV squad version of those super salty heckler Muppets, and it’s cracking Glenn up. TJ’s a good kid, despite first impressions. Glenn can’t hold that rough start against him either, the dude was dealing with some undead weirdo impersonating his dead father. TJ got his head out of his ass sooner rather than later, anyway. That’s more than most people manage.

He realizes he's holding his glass halfway between the table and his mouth, so he sets it back down. He fucked up and let his mind linger in Faerun too long just then. Sometimes a second is too long. From the outside, it probably just looks like he’s watching Nick and TJ tease Ron about his love for pineapple and olives on his pizza. But inside, he’s back there, in a place not on any map and a time that makes no sense. Memories are hitting him hard and fast, making his pulse race and his stomach turn to ice. A terrible thought occurs to Glenn for the first time. What if it had been Nick instead, finding Morgan in that castle? 

Glenn wouldn’t put it past those shitheads to pull a stunt like that. It feels like their style. Though they would have half-assed it as usual: that creepy vampire hadn’t even sounded right. He wouldn’t have gotten any traction with TJ if the kid hadn’t been hurting so bad. Now, Glenn would have seen through that shit in an instant. It wouldn’t have mattered how spot-on she looked, if it wasn’t her real voice. Her voice on the phone, on the other hand… that one was pretty good. That had definitely fucked him up for a minute. 

He's never told anybody who wasn’t there about the offer he got on that bridge. It was just another attempt to fuck with his head, in the end. Nobody in the Forgotten Realms was anywhere near as powerful as they pretended to be, and those three assholes in particular were liars and cheats to the bone. It wasn’t really her on the phone, and they couldn’t really bring her back, end of story. There’s no good reason to drag Nick or anyone else into that particular sick mind game. Still, he thinks about it from time to time. Just another nasty piece of unfinished business from that whole escapade. 

He stands up and leaves the table abruptly. Nobody gives him a hard time, or even seems to notice much. They probably assume he’s just going to smoke. Which, in fact, sounds like a good idea right now. After twenty minutes on the back porch, Glenn’s feeling better and can come back inside in time for dessert. The next couple of hours are better, and he lets himself get swept into the good energy of the Stampler house. They’ve been through it, but they know who they are, how they fit together. It’s comfortable.

Glenn goes upstairs to say goodbye to Nick before he gets on the road. He pauses outside TJ’s door for a minute, because the laughter inside is so loud that he knows they won’t hear his knock. They should have the Stamplers over sometime. His apartment fills up fast when you start adding people, but he’d figure it out.

Once the boys have settled down, Glenn knocks and tells Nick to get his ass out in the hall for a second. Nick obliges, and Glenn folds him into a hug. “Call me when you’re ready to come home.” 

“I know, dude.” Nick starts to pull away. That’s too easy, so Glenn turns the hug into a full-on grapple. Nick grunts in exasperation, then drops his weight to fall out of the clinch. 

“Nice,” Glenn says. “Okay, have fun with TJ. Try not to stay up all night.”

“Yeah,” Nick says noncommittally. He turns to head back inside the room. “Have fun being gross with your boyfriend.”

Glenn is extremely tempted to make a joke about how he’ll try not to stay up all night, either. The prudes he hangs out with must have broken his spirit. Or maybe he just appreciates the vote of support, even if it’s in Nick language. So he keeps it simple. “Thanks, kid. Love you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what date night means. Mature content in this chapter.

**_Robin_ **

Glenn is far too nocturnal to start his day at the same time Robin does, but he generally gets up so they can see each other for a few minutes before Robin leaves for work. Nothing important usually happens, sometimes they barely even talk, but it’s a routine that they both miss if it gets skipped.

On this particular morning, Robin’s fixing his lunch for the office when he hears Glenn get up. A few minutes later, Glenn wanders into the kitchen wearing a short black silk robe. Robin drops what he’s doing immediately and points the chef’s knife in Glenn’s direction. “No. Stop. What is this? What are you wearing?” 

Glenn glances down, plucks vaguely at the fabric. “My robe.”

“Don’t just say that like that means anything. I’ve never seen that before, where did you even get it?” 

Glenn looks blank. “Closet.”

“Are you talking about the laundry chasm on your side of the bed? Anything could be down there, I’ll give you that. The layers go back years.” Robin puts down the knife and beckons Glenn to him. “Come here. Good morning.”

Glenn shuffles over to collect his morning hug and kiss. He’s a rumpled mess, unrecognizable to fans of his slick onstage persona. His hair is a collection of cowlicks, he’s barefoot, he needs a shave, he’s not really bothering to open his eyes all the way yet. He looks beautiful and Robin can’t bring himself to let go of him. That is, until he catches sight of the clock. “Shit, I have to keep getting ready.” As Glenn turns, he grabs him around the waist and tries to flip the back of the robe’s collar. “Just let me see if this says Victoria’s Secret.”

“Fuck off, narc,” Glenn grumbles as he wriggles out of the hold. “Who cares, it’s mine now.”

Robin goes back to chopping vegetables while Glenn grabs a mug for his coffee. “Somewhere out there, a hussy is cold without her robe right now,” Robin says sternly.

“I’m the hussy,” Glenn mumbles as he sits down at the counter. He’s halfway through the coffee before his brain generates another thought. “Is it Thursday?”

“Friday,” Robin says. 

“Oh shit, nice,” Glenn says. “Date night Friday?”

“Date night Friday,” Robin confirms with a smile. He’s clearing off the counter and hoping his keys turn up under a dishtowel somewhere, but now Glenn’s on the scent and suddenly focused. 

“Cuffs?” Glenn offers hopefully.

“Hmm,” Robin says. “Sure. And getting you to beg me to let up.”

“You can try, old man,” Glenn grins and grabs the sandwich off the cutting board. He hops down from the barstool and heads toward the living room. 

“That’s my lunch,” Robin says helplessly. “I need that. Please come back. Dammit, Glenn.”

**_Glenn_ **

That evening, Glenn’s wasting time working on a new song when he hears keys in the door and perks up like a dog who’s been left home alone all day. In a different type of relationship, Glenn might feel the need to pretend he doesn’t notice when Robin comes home. He could play it cool and just stay on the balcony until Robin came looking for him. Fortunately, there is no amount of Glenn failing to play it cool that will ever match what Robin brings to the table in that department. He puts away his guitar and walks out to find Robin standing in the hallway, sorting through his messenger bag. 

“What’d you lose, baby?”

Robin looks up and grins. “Sunglasses, I think. How’d you know?”

“Hmm, because I know you,” Glenn reminds him as he pulls him into a welcome-home kiss. Robin tries to embrace him with his hands full, gives up with a laugh and pulls away so he can put his things down on the entryway table. He nods at Glenn’s outfit as he hangs up his jacket. “Did you not get dressed today?”

Glenn looks down at his robe, shrugs. “Didn’t go anywhere today. Wait… Yeah, no. Didn’t go anywhere.” 

“This is that rockstar lifestyle I’ve heard so much about, huh?” Robin asks. He turns back to Glenn and gives him a proper hug this time. “There we go, sorry.” He hooks a finger under Glenn’s chin to tip his face up for another kiss, tender and warm. Glenn leans into the romance for a minute, but he can’t resist getting a little more aggressive and dirty as the kiss goes on.

“Mmm,” Robin says, heat now coming through in his voice. “Date night Friday.”

“Date night Friday,” Glenn echoes with a wicked smile. He tugs at Robin’s shirt and starts unbuttoning buttons without asking, starting from the bottom and working his way up. The novelty of each other’s bodies has been replaced by a familiarity that verges on possessive, but undressing each other is still like unwrapping a present. Every single time. 

Once he’s got Robin’s shirt open, Glenn kisses up his bare chest to his neck, then to his jaw and mouth. He moves to wrap his legs around Robin’s waist, but Robin’s not ready for him and he stumbles forward half a step before catching Glenn and holding them both steady. Robin laughs. “Down, boy.”

“Carry me,” Glenn insists.

“You want my back going out before we even get to the fun part?” Robin grumbles. “You’re playing with fire.” But he scoops Glenn up anyway, catching him under the knees and shoulders and sweeping him off his feet into a full bridal-style, romance novel cover carry. Robin doesn’t need to ask where they’re headed, just takes him straight to the bedroom and sets him down on the bed. 

Glenn wriggles out of his boxers quickly, but after he’s untied the robe, Robin stops him with a look. Glenn raises his eyebrows and Robin half-smiles at him. “I hate to say it, but the robe’s working for me. Leave it on?”

“Damn, okay,” Glenn laughs. He hops onto the bed, sitting back on his heels expectantly. Robin has brought out the good cuffs, the ones he knows Glenn prefers. Glenn’s been cuffed well and cuffed poorly in his day, and when your wrists are covered in welts, it’s hard to remember whether the sex was worth it. These are the best, though: wide leather, soft suede on the inside, solid silver hardware. Stylish and comfortable. 

Robin sits down next to Glenn on the bed, warms him up with a thorough and attentive kiss before he takes one wrist in his hands and secures the cuff around it. This is always the moment when Glenn feels that heat and tightness start to gather down low. He’s a brat, he accepts it, and he prefers to make Robin work for every bit of dominance he claims. But this part, holding patient and still? That’s a true blue submissive moment and it always sends a shiver down his spine. 

Robin hooks the cuffs together and pulls them over Glenn’s head and behind him, securing them around the upper part of the headboard. The curve of his triceps exposed, back arched, silky fabric spilling down from his shoulders, arms framing the face… God, he must look great right now. Glenn grins and settles in as Robin finishes taking off his shirt and rejoins him on the bed. 

Robin looks him over for a long moment, studying the scene in front of him like he’s preserving it as a memory. He smiles and leans in for a gentle kiss, which Glenn accepts hungrily. Then Robin pulls back a bit, Glenn tries to follow, and finds himself caught short by the cuffs. He lets out a little frustrated grunt. This time he waits for Robin to come to him, receives the touch of his mouth, the tongue slipping between his lips. Glenn’s slept with people who wouldn’t even bother kissing after clothes started coming off, but Robin treats it as an end in itself. 

“Sure you didn’t tie me up just to practice your kissing?” Glenn asks between breaths. Robin chuckles and goes back to work without answering. Before long, the heat is turning up, each of them going fiercer and harder as their breath starts to catch. 

“Spit,” Robin orders, holding out his hand, and Glenn complies. Robin’s wet hand moves to Glenn’s lap, and Glenn jerks against the cuffs at the sudden warm grip. Robin claims his mouth again and he’s moving his hand slow and firm. Glenn’s never been able to figure out how he does it, but there’s a way that Robin can touch him that almost drops him into subspace all by itself. It’s a sort of gentle but firm, almost professional handling. As though he’s just a body that Robin needs to take care of, just someone who can sit back and let himself be looked after. Glenn finds himself relaxing into the simple safety of the trust they’ve built. Robin’s devoted to making him feel good, and right now, Glenn feels very good. He’s not going to overthink this. 

There's something pretty irresistible about the focus Robin’s bringing to his simple task, the lingering licks and nips he slowly plants along Glenn’s neck while his hand strokes firm and fast. They’ve been craving each other all day, and Glenn wants this and so much more and he wants it _now._ “Please, baby,” he says, and then doesn’t even know what he wants to ask for. “Please,” he repeats, softer this time. 

Robin hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t change the speed of his deliberate strokes. He’s edging Glenn ever closer to the brink, but won’t quite push him all the way over. Just as he’s nearly there, Robin pulls his hand away, leaving Glenn to gasp at being abruptly left untouched and unfulfilled. He was almost there, but he’s got nothing to grind against, nothing to even touch. He pulls against the cuffs hard and rattles the headboard in agony. “Fuck, you’re cruel.” 

Not that Robin seems to be worried about the torture he’s inflicting, or at least not that particular variety. He’s studying the cuffs instead, resting a hand on Glenn’s leg, just out of reach. Glenn rolls his shoulders to the best of his ability, winces at the ache. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” he says as he leans hard against the restraints. He bites back a groan, feels his eyes water, and watches Robin’s lips part in unmistakeable lust. 

“Good.” Robin comes in for a light kiss, then pulls away and leaves Glenn reaching for his mouth for more. Instead, Robin’s leaning down, his free arm supporting him as he starts to use his mouth on Glenn. Glenn gives a soft moan as he feels the tension start to build again. Before long, he’s going crazy from not being able to touch Robin. He wants to get his hands in that hair and hold him tight while he thrusts upward, scrape his nails along Robin’s skin so he can feel him moan low. He arches his back to try to get deeper, but instead Robin pulls away quickly and leaves him pushing into empty air. 

When he lowers his head again, one of Robin’s hands moves to Glenn’s hipbone and applies a slight admonishing pressure. Stay put, in other words. Easier said than done when someone’s working him over with this level of intent and skill. Particularly someone who’s had extensive opportunity to learn exactly how to break him down as fast as possible. 

Glenn pulls down hard against the cuffs, angling so the edges of the leather bite into his skin. The sharp counterpoint of pain buys him a minute of distraction, but despite his best efforts, he’s soon twitching his hips upward again. Without breaking his rhythm, Robin slides his hand down from Glenn’s hip and digs a thumb between the muscles of Glenn’s inner thigh. He finds what he was looking for and presses hard on a nerve ending that makes sparks of pain shoot across Glenn’s vision. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes, I know. Okay,” he gasps. “But baby please, not without you.” 

Robin pulls away for a moment and glances up. “Later,” he says quietly. “Not yet. You’ll get your chance.” But he does take advantage of the break to grab lube from the nightstand, so he can’t be planning to hold out much longer.

“Later better be soon,” Glenn says through clenched teeth, and he’s not telling Robin anything he doesn’t know, but that relentless mouth is on him again. Before much longer he feels a slick finger press at his entrance and slip inside, quickly joined by another, and he pulls against the cuffs with a whimper. This is truly unfair. After this long together, Robin has to know that what he’s doing will push Glenn straight over the edge. But Robin still chooses to curl his fingers in that particular perfect way, and it’s the final straw and Glenn’s hissing out a string of curses as he finally finds the release he was denied earlier. Robin stays with him, on him, for as long as it takes, soothing him with gentle touches along his thighs. 

Finally, Glenn slumps against the cuffs. Robin moves up to him, pulls his head back by the hair and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. He forces his tongue between Glenn’s lips and Glenn rouses just enough to kiss back. His satisfied groan turns into a purr as Robin strokes his hands softly along his back, moving under his robe and tracing light circles on his bare skin. He luxuriates in the touch, how it seems to heighten the endorphins still suffusing his body. The kisses have softened into a much gentler mode as Glenn’s breath slows.

“Let me touch you now, baby,” Glenn murmurs as they part, his mouth half an inch from Robin’s own lips. “I want to take care of you.” 

“I’m not done taking care of you yet,” Robin says, speaking softly now that they’re so close. “I think you could go again.” Glenn’s eyes widen before he can stop himself. He’s already spent and sweaty, his muscles relaxed and a little weak from the endorphin rush. So this is what Robin meant this morning about getting Glenn to beg him to let up. Robin catches his startled reaction and returns a sexy smirk. “Or you can tap out, too. Any time you want.” 

“Bring it.” Glenn gives him a challenging glare, then throws in a wink to make him laugh. 

“I see. All right, then.” Robin wraps an arm behind Glenn’s back and pulls him tight for a passionate kiss. Glenn feels the heat start to build again in him and he shivers in anticipation. He’s not sure whether Robin’s right about being able to make him beg for mercy, but he’s very much looking forward to finding out.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Glenn_ **

For the past few hours, Glenn’s apartment has been getting trashed by a party that would put Mötley Crüe to shame. Unfortunately, he can’t really get into the swing of it, since it’s Nick’s Halloween party and the rampaging partiers are all about 14 years old. There’s more than four of them but less than twelve, and that’s as close as he can estimate given how fast they move. They’re all demonically high on sugar and drunk on the intoxicating power of knowing they can stay up as late as they want tonight.

He’d been all for abandoning ship, hiding at Robin’s place, and returning to check for survivors the next day. Unfortunately, Robin insisted they at least be somewhat visible for the initial phase of the party, to “set the tone,” whatever that means. Glenn’s hiding out in his studio and working on some new stuff he’s been playing around with, while Robin answers the door for the occasional trick-or-treater and chats with the parents doing drop-offs. 

Glenn’s pretty used to noise, but coherent thought this evening was impossible until TJ proposed that the kids go trick-or-treating in the rest of the building, but _ironically._ Glenn wasn’t surprised when this was immediately voted a great idea - he can tell none of them wants to be seen as the baby of the group, but they kinda still want the free candy. It’s a tricky age, and Nick’s friends are all over the place - some of them are trying on the “too cool for all of this” vibe, but some of them are dressed up earnestly as their favorite characters. Glenn is mentally betting, too, that some of them are going to have serious nightmares if they dig any actual scary movies out of his collection tonight. 

The whole mess of them will be back soon and all hell will break loose again, but for the moment it’s just him and Robin in the eye of the hurricane. Robin is closing the door after doling out candy to their latest round of trick-or-treaters. “We’re going to have so much left over,” he notes, giving the candy bowl a shake. “We went overboard.” 

Glenn shrugs. “Just leave it out where the kids can find it, they’ll skeletonize it like piranhas. Want to dip before they get back?” Robin nods apprehensively. Nick’s sworn on everything he holds dear that the party won’t get too out of hand, and Glenn is banking that the social cachet of being able to host technically unchaperoned events (even if Glenn and Robin are literally next door) is worth more to Nick than doing anything truly reckless. Plus, Nick has a secret code that he can text if he needs one of them to come over and exert some dad authority to settle things down. 

“What were you playing before, a new thing for the Trio? Sounded good,” Robin says as they go down the hall. 

Glenn scoffs. “I haven’t done a new thing for the Trio in a grip, man. The guys don’t want to—“ he curls his lip as he enunciates Dominic’s particular favorite phrase, _“mess with success.”_

“That’s too bad,” Robin says. “They’re missing out.” Robin doesn’t usually venture much of an opinion on Glenn’s music, and Glenn is surprised by how good the mild compliment makes him feel. He’s not gonna make any decisions based on Robin’s taste in music, but maybe it does sound okay. 

As much fun as it was to execute Nick’s elaborate vision for the Halloween decor next door, it’s a relief to get to Robin’s place and get some peace. No headache-inducing purple lights and fog machine here. No ninth graders trying to out-cool each other. Just a zen, vaguely Nordic space where two grown men are now free to get high and fool around and watch bad movies, as God intended.

Robin’s gotten a sour look on his face as he throws his keys and phone on the hall table. “I can’t believe Georgia’s mother was such a pill about it being a _‘boy-girl’_ party. And soon as she knew, she had a billion questions about everything: if we had a first aid kit, and are there batteries in the smoke detectors, and what’s our policy on drug use.” 

Robin keeps dissecting the interaction as he walks into the kitchen, probably because he was so polite at the time. By this point, Glenn’s used to hearing Robin deliver his half of the argument long after the original audience is long gone. It seems to make him feel better. “Just because we don’t split them up by _gender_ , it doesn’t mean you’ve dropped your precious daughter into a den of sin and drugs, _Chelsea.”_

“Yeah, fuck Chelsea,” Glenn says supportively. 

“Although it would have helped me with the sin and drugs argument if you’d put some pants on. Or put out the joint,” Robin adds ruefully.

“Well, that’s what she gets for showing up early and to the wrong apartment,” says Glenn, unperturbed. He pulls out his phone and texts Nick.

_no impregnating each other_

“There,” he says, holding his phone up so Robin can see the message. “Due diligence.”

“Very nice,” Robin says. “Did you still want to watch a movie? I can get snacks.”

“I was mostly gonna try to get in your pants,” Glenn admits easily. “Snacks optional.” 

Robin laughs, but then his face falls again as he closes the kitchen cabinet.

“Really? Still on Chelsea?” Glenn asks skeptically. He lit up as soon as they got in, he’s halfway to stoned already, and doesn’t want to be stuck in this brain loop if they can avoid it.

Robin throws his hands up helplessly. “I’m ruminating, I don’t know. I don’t think anything we do would be good enough for her, and I think I can guess why.”

“Baby,” Glenn says as patiently as he can manage, “she’s not here. Fight her tomorrow if you gotta.” Glenn sidles up next to him. “You know,” Glenn says thoughtfully, “I can think of some things we could do that Chelsea would probably _really_ hate.” 

He can feel Robin chuckle, so he continues as he casually packs another bowl. “Like, if we got super high and fooled around right there where she sat to make all her little snide comments… wow. Such a ‘fuck you, Chelsea’ statement, you know?” Robin’s laughing now, wrapping his arm around Glenn’s waist and leaning into him. Perfect.

“Glenn, sweetheart,” Robin murmurs, pulling him around so they’re face to face. “What kind of weird proxy hatefuck are you trying to get going here? This is… advanced.”

“Uh…” Glenn takes another hit, tries to think about how to frame it. “Sort of aiming for a vibe where we don’t actually interact with her, but you’re still mad enough that blowing me on the couch counts as revenge?”

“Hmm,” Robin dips his mouth to Glenn’s for a kiss, hooks a finger into his waistband, starts to pull him along as he walks. “I mean, you make a compelling case.”

“Right?” Glenn says as he’s dragged into the living room. “Because seriously, fuck Chelsea.”

“Yeah, _fuck_ Chelsea.”

Glenn lets Robin lead him to the couch and throws himself onto the seat cushion with an anticipatory chuckle. He may have smoked a little too much during the boring parts of that conversation, because he’s getting that sort of slow motion balloon-on-a-string feeling in his head. Ah well, it’ll wear off by the time he feels like doing anything. As long as Robin’s doing the work, though, he should get a show, so Glenn pulls his shirt off. “I think it’s more vengeful this way,” he says solemnly, before breaking into a helpless giggle.

Robin’s not exactly taking things too seriously either, but his eyes rove over Glenn’s bare torso in a very hungry way. Glenn grins at that and spreads his arms along the back of the couch. Of all things, Robin is a shoulder man, positively helpless at the sight of a good collarbone and deltoid. So Glenn’s not above a little shameless flexing as he lets his knees fall wide. It would be a better effect if he wasn’t so high that his eyes kept drifting closed.

Then it happens; Robin’s running his hands along Glenn’s thighs, and he’s locking eyes with Glenn, and when he goes to kneel down he lets out a tiny but very _dad grunt_ type of grunt.

It hits Glenn just the right way, which is to say the wrong way, because it’s somehow the funniest thing that has happened in a long time. He sucks in a breath to try to hold back his amusement and completely fails. The laughter bubbles up through him like a geyser. After a while, he gets himself under control somewhat and can get his eyes open. From where he’s kneeling, Robin is giving him an exasperated glare that sets Glenn off again. 

“I can come back later, or…” Robin deadpans, and his amused annoyance is making the giggle fit so much worse. 

“I’m good,” Glenn wheezes, fooling nobody. 

“It was an appreciative groan?” Robin offers. His face cracks into a smile. “No?” He sits back on his heels and gives a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “I’ll wait.”

**_Nick_ **

“Lark, no! That ninja sword has a real edge! Glenn almost lost a finger once!”

Despite Robin spending several hours safety-proofing the Close boys’ apartment under the guise of cleaning it, he’s missed some stuff. He removed the alcohol from the kitchen, but apparently still doesn’t know about half the places that Glenn’s stashed weed around the apartment. Nor does he know about the booze collection that Nick’s hiding in the air return vent. But Robin - and Nick, as it turns out - focused on all the wrong things when preparing for the party. None of Nick’s friends are particularly interested in getting high or drunk, but they are absolutely fascinated by Glenn’s toys, and it’s giving Nick heartburn. 

Lark and Nick have a stare-down for a second before Lark reluctantly puts the sword back on the wall. Whether he’s doing it because he’s respecting Nick’s authority or because he’s afraid Nick will stop supplying him with fireworks isn’t important right now. Nick stalks back down the hall. “Okay guys, karaoke machine yes, guitars _definitely no.”_

He rounds the corner into the living room and almost crashes into a very short Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Georgia takes a step backward. “What?” Nick snaps.

“Sno-cone machine?” Georgia asks.

“Go for it.”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, followed by an embarrassed silence. 

“Was it the massage chair?” Nick yells.

“...yeah.”

“Just leave it.” Nick presses the heels of his hands to his forehead. How young is too young to get migraines? He retreats to his bedroom, where Grant’s sitting on the floor and playing video games while TJ chills on the bed with his sketch pad. 

Nick flops down next to TJ and checks his phone. As expected, Robin’s texted from next door to ask about the crash. Nick just sends a thumbs up and sighs heavily. He pulls down his hollowed-out textbook from the shelf and gets his vape.

Stupid observant TJ has looked up from his sketchpad and he’s studying Nick. “So how’s that whole thing going?” 

Nick rolls his eyes, but TJ persists. “No, for real. You need him gone? Should we sic Lark on him?”

Nick shakes his head. “He’s just kind of a pain in the ass. He wants to know where I’m going when I leave the apartment, he asks if I did my homework. He acts like he’s my parole officer or something.”

“Sounds terrible,” TJ says dryly. 

“Try living with the Oaks,” Grant mutters from the foot of the bed. 

Nick grimaces. “How much longer is that for?”

“Dad’s supposed to be looking for a place, but…” Grant hunches into his hoodie and jabs at the controller’s buttons vehemently. 

An awkward silence descends. Nick feels for the dude. Even setting aside whatever is or isn’t happening with Grant’s dad and Mr. Oak, the whole divorce thing is pretty fresh. Grant’s only talked about it a little, but it can’t be easy. At least Nick only has to maneuver his way around his dad and Robin. Grant’s gotta share a roof with his dad, Mr. Oak and Mrs. Oak-Garcia, Sparrow, Lark, Paeden, the dog. Even a goat, for fuck’s sake.

“They all got real weird out there,” TJ sums up. “It’s gonna take a while for things to settle down.”

“They were all already pretty weird,” Nick says fervently. “But I hope you’re right.”

There’s a shriek from the living room that’s suddenly cut short. 

“Fucking _seriously?_ ” Nick mutters. 

“Go tell them to knock it off,” TJ says. “It’s your house.”

Nick sits and smokes for a second while he contemplates that. Okay, yeah. Even Glenn has to tell people to calm down sometimes - or get told. And Nick has a feeling the same tactic that he uses on Glenn will work on his friends: don’t confront directly, just intercept and redirect.

(Robin still hasn’t fully caught on, still seems to think that saying “your shoes are in the middle of the floor” or “that’s starting to catch fire” will inspire Glenn to respond with “I’m so sorry, let me take care of that” instead of “what’s your point.” Nick considered throwing him some pro strategies, but if the dude truly aspires to the long-term care and feeding of one Glenn Close, he’s going to have to navigate choppier waters than that.)

Nick gives a decisive nod “All right. I’m gonna lay down the law. You guys back me up when I say what we’re gonna do instead.”

“And what’s that?” TJ asks skeptically. 

“I didn’t get that far yet.” Nick is stumped. This should be easier. Glenn always just stocks the fridge with booze and puts some flower out on the coffee table. He doesn’t plan activities for people like he’s a camp counselor. “Uh… Ouija board?”

“Pass.” TJ shudders. “I get enough of that at home, that place is haunted as all hell.”

“Beer pong?”

“Nobody likes beer, Nick,” Grant points out.

They think quietly for a moment. 

“Beer pong, but instead of drinking, you have to eat one of those super hot warheads,” TJ offers. 

Intriguing. Nick was eating Tabasco on his chicken nuggets before he could talk. He wouldn’t consider it a particular talent if he hadn’t seen Robin get absolutely owned by some five star som tum the other night. Nick and Glenn had just exchanged glances and taken the rest of it back off Robin’s plate for themselves while he frantically gulped water. As far as Nick can remember, there’s no reason his friends would know this about him - it’s not like school cafeteria food provides much of a challenge. Maybe he could even get a betting pool going. 

“I like it,” Nick declares. “Come help me.” 

The ping pong ball is the hardest thing to come up with, but the rest falls into place easily. Glenn likes to bring home weird candy from his travels, and the selection is eclectic: tamarindo, super salty black licorice, musk sticks, and a whole assortment of sour and spicy options. Nick dumps the whole assortment in with the leftover Halloween candy so there’s some blanks in the chamber, then hollers for his friends to come into the kitchen. They have to bicker a bit about the rules before the tournament can properly commence, but once Georgia takes over and makes their brackets, it’s game on.

TJ is the first out, laid low shamefully by a single cinnamon fireball. He mutters something about his mom having to cook bland food so his dad’s stomach doesn’t hurt, and how it’s ruined him, and how he’s gonna sweep them all next year. Nobody believes him.

Georgia makes a game attempt, but even she eventually has to admit that her eyes are watering too bad to aim. She appoints herself referee, a role greatly enhanced by her solemn black robe. 

Grant manages to last until he has to eat a piece of double-salt licorice. He spits it out and drops to the ground like a sniper got him, refusing to even finish the round. 

Lark is the next down, not because he’s distracted by the three warheads in his mouth, but because he hurls the ping pong ball like he’s pitching for the Dodgers. It’s a relief when he finally knocks over enough cups for Georgia to disqualify him. 

Sparrow hangs in as long as he keeps drawing sour forfeits, but Nick knows it’s only a matter of time. They had a lot of opportunities to compare notes during their long wait in the castle. He knows for a fact that the twins trained themselves to be able to bite into lemons without reacting as an intimidation tactic. Once Sparrow draws a jalapeño lollipop, it’s all over. Nick just has to drag the next match out while his opponent slowly succumbs.

It comes down to Nick and Austin, head to head. He thinks he’s gonna be able to take her out: there’s a fine sheen of sweat on her brow that suggests she’s holding on through sheer willpower. She’s making him work for it, though. She drew one of the jalapeño lollipops, and she’s not even trying to crunch it up and swallow it. She just leaves it in her mouth as she plays, with the stick poking out defiantly like a prisoner’s last cigarette.

Austin misses a shot, and Nick cringes as Grant hands her a Pixy stick. Next time, they gotta do sudden death rules once it’s down to the finals - no forfeits that are just normal candy. 

Then the impossible happens. Austin must get overconfident and inhale at the wrong time, because she suddenly chokes and coughs out a giant cloud of powdered sugar. Nick finds himself holding his own breath as he watches her sputter. Her nose is running, her eyes are watering, and she’s clearing her throat over and over. There’s still half of the Pixy stick to go, and Georgia is looking anxiously at her wristwatch. With ten seconds left on the clock, Austin, still wheezing, shakes her head and puts the candy in her hand back down on the table. A forfeit. Absolutely legendary. One of the finalists got the empty chamber in Russian Roulette and somehow went down anyway. 

Nick is gracious in victory. He is the proud winner of six medium favors to be specified later, and Grant records this fact solemnly on his phone. (He and the guys have developed a complex economy of small favors, medium favors, big favors, and Life Debts - the girls caught on fast once they had the concept explained.) He knows for _sure_ that he’ll be making Austin do his part of this week's lab report. The rest, he’ll have to think about and spend wisely. He’s been working on a particularly ambitious Tiktok concept that could use some extra cast and crew.

The chaos of earlier doesn’t resurface after the tournament is finished. There’s a lull, and Nick can tell people are kinda interested in what he’ll suggest next. Movies are a classic for a reason, and he’s put a lot of thought into narrowing down his options to no more than a dozen. At first he grabs _Society_ \- Glenn taught him a deep and abiding love for squelchy practical effects. But then he catches Georgia out of the corner of his eye, and remembers that Chelsea and Phil don’t even let her watch PG-13 movies, and then he remembers that Grant’s here, and thinks twice about picking out something with a lot of blood and guts. He grabs _Devil Bat_ instead, a cheesy black-and-white flick. He’s nervous for the first ten minutes that they won’t like it, but it’s a smash hit. He should have known: nobody can resist Bela Lugosi chewing the scenery. 

They discuss watching a second movie, but end up just hanging out and talking instead about everything and nothing. Eventually the yawns start, and pretty soon people are getting out their sleeping bags. 

Nick is the last to get ready for bed, and turns out the lights before he rolls himself up into a burrito of blankets on the floor at the foot of the couch. He left the string lights on, and he can see his friends’ shapes outlined in purple around the room. Grant’s on his phone, the twins are discussing something quietly. It reminds him of Faerun days when they’d all have to cram into one or two rooms of an inn, except without the bugs and the peril.

“Nick?” He hears his name hissed from above, and looks up to see Georgia peering over the arm of the couch at him. In the dark, her face is just a pale smudge with two big dark holes for eyes. 

“Sup,” Nick ventures cautiously.

“This is the best party I ever went to,” Georgia whispers. “Thanks for having me.”

“It’s cool,” Nick says automatically. “My pleasure.”

“Yeah, good stuff, Close,” TJ rumbles from nearby. “Well played.”  
  
“Obviously,” Nick says, but as he settles back into his blankets, he can tell that he’s grinning like an idiot.  
  
***  
  
Only-slightly-related-art for the chapter: every day is Halloween if you're Austin. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from late May 2020: 95% of this chapter, including the protest component, was locked in months and months ago - but the timing of the release of this chapter/subplot and what happened a few weeks later in current events is unfortunate. No specific reference was intended here and if it’s going to be triggering for you given what’s happening lately, maybe skip this one.

**_Glenn_ **

Rehearsal today is going well, for GC3 standards. Dominic is always in a better mood once they hit their busy season and his two favorite things start happening: more money starts rolling in, and he has the daily opportunity to bust Glenn’s balls. It’s a completely pointless activity - as long as Glenn’s physically present at the shows, there’s not a lot that Dominic or the label can do to him. Plus, why bring up that Glenn was late to sound check or was low-energy in the second set? He knows damn well, and if anybody holds the power to make him actually care, it’s certainly not Dominic. 

The other two are sorting out some nuance he’s not needed for and he’s basically staring into space when he realizes his phone’s buzzing in his pocket. He’s getting an actual phone call from Connor, not a text, which is weird. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, Glem. I need you to come bail me out.”

“Sure of course,” Glenn says. “What’s going on, where are you at?”

“Jail, homie,” Connor replies. “The place where you bail people out from.” There’s an edge to Connor’s tone and Glenn realizes he’s not joking. He gets the necessary info, dips out of the rehearsal with minimal explanation, and is on the road within minutes. 

Rolling into the station and finding his way through the halls to where Connor’s waiting is a trip. Police stations have a real hostile vibe, and it’s not just the harsh fluorescent lights. It takes a long time, and a lot of Glenn overriding a lifelong habit of not talking to cops, but eventually Connor’s cleared to leave. 

When he gets a good look at Connor, the kid’s got a solid scrape down the right side of his face, with a bruise coming up underneath it. Glenn frowns at that and his fists clench, but Connor rolls his eyes and shakes his head. All right, Glenn can stand down for the moment, but he doesn’t relax until they’re safely outside the building. He impulsively gives Connor a hug as they get outdoors, which the kid accepts gratefully for a minute before shaking him off.

“Unlawful assembly, disturbance of the peace, _and_ failure to disperse at the scene of a riot,” Glenn reads from the paperwork as they walk to the car. “Triple threat. What the fuck happened?”

“Protest, counter-protest,” Connor sums up tersely. “I mean, peace was for sure being disturbed. Then the cops brought the ruckus.”

“Huh,” Glenn responds. “Sounds about right.” They get into the car and Glenn gets a better look at Connor. The kid looks scared, looks younger than usual. He struts around all day like six feet of king shit, but there’s still a naïveté underneath. His polished air of invulnerability got a little scuffed up tonight, and Glenn’s very glad he picked up the phone.

“What happened with the face?” Glenn asks as they drive away. “Have I taught you _nothing_ about protecting the moneymaker?”

“First of all, it’s head to toe moneymaker over here,” Connor corrects him, gesturing to himself. “And I wish it was a cool story, but I just got knocked off balance and tripped while people were scattering. Friendly fire even, I think.”

”How’s your head?” Glenn asks. “You black out at all?” 

“Nah, I'm good,” Connor replies. “How’s _your_ head?”

Glenn laughs. “No complaints, man.” 

It’s an old joke with them, left over from when Connor would kick down the door after school and start crashing around taking out trash and vacuuming loudly. He was remorseless even if Glenn was hungover and/or not alone, and he quickly got in the habit of endlessly dunking on Glenn for what Glenn considered a rockstar lifestyle and Connor described as “wanton alcoholic promiscuity.” Their usual communication style had to be shelved around Robin in order for them to avoid earnest conversations about using respectful words with each other. But since Connor left for college, the two of them haven’t really had a lot of time together to chill lately. For that alone, the trip out here was worth it. 

Glenn pulls over at the first gas station he sees and leaves Connor in the car while he goes to round up some necessary supplies. He gets back into the vehicle and hands them over. “Take three of the ibuprofen now and put the ice pack on your face. Oreos are for moral support. You should have somebody look at the scrape tomorrow. Do you want me to take you back home, or to the dorms?”

“Dorms,” Connor says immediately. Glenn nods and gets them back on the road. Connor is gnawing on his thumbnail anxiously, and finally spits out his question. “Are you gonna tell my dad?” 

That’s exactly what Glenn’s been considering since he originally got the call, and he unfortunately knows what his answer is. “Man, you know if he found out I covered for you, I’d be in deep shit. I gotta tell him. Should have pulled this stunt a year ago when I didn’t know who he was.”

“You chickenshit, that’s what I thought you’d say,” Connor says, but he doesn’t sound as distressed now. He sounds more like the Connor that Glenn knows, contemplating how he wants to play his next hand and feeling safe enough to flip Glenn shit. Connor opens the cookies and hands a couple over. “Love has made you meek and obedient. Just saying.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Glenn says, once his mouth isn’t totally full. “You get a month to tell him yourself, whenever you think it’s a good idea. After the month is up, I’m dropping the dime on you. Fair?”

“Fair,” Connor says. He bunches the ice-pack up and holds it against his cheekbone. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Anytime, dude.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to verbal abuse; a panic attack threatens and is averted. Proceed accordingly and be good to yourself.
> 
> Mature content in this chapter.

There was no need for Glenn to keep watch tonight. Nick is sleeping safely in his own room, Robin is snoring in Glenn’s bed as usual. Their building is secure, the doors are locked, there’s nobody hunting them. They’re on Earth, and have been for months. He’s not hunkered in a van or sharing a bed with Ron or watching the stars from his blanket on the ground. That’s all done. It’s gone. He couldn’t get back there even if he tried. But he’s been up all night anyway. 

It’s happening more and more often, these nights when he doesn’t sleep until the sun rises. Glenn’s always been a night owl, but this is something more. He just putters around like a twilight ghost, invisible and unaccounted for. He watches movies with the sound down low, he dicks around on his phone, he tinkers with his effects pedals and amps. Grazes from the fridge if he remembers to eat. Chills on the balcony and watches cars go by in the distance. He wouldn’t have to be so careful about noise if he went next door to Robin’s place, but the one time he tried it, it felt all wrong.

It’s close to morning now, and Glenn feels like he could safely try sleeping. He likes to drift off to the sounds of his boys getting ready for the day, the quiet murmur of conversation and the clink of dishes, the sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing. Then he can doze through the long hours when he’s alone in the house, and wake up when Nick gets home from school. It lets him fast forward to the good parts.

Glenn steps softly as he enters the bedroom and pulls the curtains open enough to let in the early hints of dawn. One bad night terror was all it took to ruin sleeping in pure darkness for him. If he doesn’t have to turn on a light, it’s easier to check the room when he thinks he hears something. He worms his way in under the blankets and gives Robin a nudge so he’ll roll over and make some room, but it backfires and Robin rolls the other way, throwing his arm over Glenn. Glenn pulls that heavy-ass arm down from his neck to his chest, but lets it stay on him. It’s oddly relaxing, like the blanket they use at the dentist for x-rays. 

Once settled in, Glenn glances to the bedside table. The clock - and what clearer sign that he’s dating a dinosaur than Robin’s fondness for using actual clocks instead of just looking at his phone like a normal person? - says 5:15. Glenn shakes Robin’s arm. “Time to get up, baby.”

Robin grumbles and tries to roll away, but Glenn digs his fingers into Robin’s ribs to tickle him awake. Robin bats ineffectively at Glenn until he captures his hands. He looks at the clock with a miserable sound and lets go of Glenn. “I swear, I told you I was taking Friday off.”

“It’s Friday?”

_“Yes.”_

“Ah shit, my bad. Okay, go back to sleep. It’s way too early.”

Robin groans. 

“Try,” Glenn says sternly. He pulls the sleep mask over his eyes and flops back onto the pillow. Something’s not quite right, though. Robin’s too quiet. He should be fussing with the sheets and blankets, sighing as he settles in, rubbing his feet together unconsciously. Too quiet means one thing. Glenn doesn’t bother even looking over before he speaks. “Quit staring at me, stalker, go to sleep.”

Robin chuckles. “How do you always know?” 

“It’s like laser beams,” Glenn says. “I can feel the heart eyes on me.”

There’s a shifting on the mattress next to him, and Glenn feels Robin move a piece of hair gently away from his forehead. “I like your hair long like this,” Robin says softly. 

“Any gray?”

“Still no. I can picture it, though.” He runs a finger along a lock, down to where it falls just below Glenn’s jaw. “Just a little here and there, by the face? It would look beautiful. When did your dad start going gray?”

“Don’t know,” Glenn says brusquely. He pulls off his sleep mask, catches Robin’s hand and brings it away from his face. “You trying to get something started, baby?”

“Unless you have other plans…” Robin nuzzles his face close to Glenn’s. “What, you think I’m bored of waking up with a gorgeous man in my bed? You think that doesn’t give me ideas?” He gives a wry grin. “And we don’t usually get this much time to ourselves in the morning before anybody else wakes up.”

“That’s what passes for dirty talk when you have kids, isn’t it.” Glenn was already done for once he saw how Robin was looking at him, but he pretends to think it over. “I haven’t shaved,” he points out.

“I like the stubble.” Robin kisses Glenn’s jawline softly. 

Glenn shivers. “All right. Show me what kind of ideas you get when you wake up with a gorgeous man next to you.” He stretches into a delicious full-body yawn, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Spoil and worship me and so forth.”

Robin sits up in the bed. “You want coffee? Breakfast?” 

“Maybe later. I was just thinking, like, weed and some dick.”

Robin laughs. “Never in short supply around here.” He scoots over to retrieve the metal KISS lunchbox that holds Glenn’s bedside stash. “What can I get you?” 

“We still got some Space Candy?”

There’s a clinking as Robin rummages through the jars. “Space Queen okay?”

“That’ll do.” 

Robin hums happily to himself as he packs a bowl for Glenn. He’s picked up decent technique from Glenn over the past few months, although he still concentrates intently while he does it. It’s frankly cute as hell. Glenn’s pretty sure Robin’s love language is just... all of them. “You treated your other boyfriends this good, or am I just lucky?”

Robin hands over the pipe and lighter. “What other boyfriends? 

Glenn’s focused on lighting up, so he doesn’t process Robin’s words at first. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“Did you not know that? When would I have had a boyfriend before now?”

“I dunno, man. I keep filling in the blanks on you, I figured there was somebody before you got married.” He takes a contemplative hit. “We’ve never talked about your body count, have we?”

Robin looks horrified. “I don’t have a _body count,_ what are you talking about?”

“Oh my god. How many people you’ve _boned_ ,” Glenn clarifies. “I’m not asking if you're a serial killer.” 

“Oh, that makes more sense. I was just counting serious, longer-term things.” Robin shrugs. “Never got that serious with a guy before.”

“How come?” 

“Was still dealing with the idea that good Catholic boys don’t do that stuff.” Robin gives a very _long story_ type of sigh and takes the pipe away from Glenn so he can steal a hit for himself. He must not be planning on getting out of bed for a while, he’s terrified of the idea that Nick might see him stoned. “Didn’t really finish figuring it out until well into the Penny era, and by then it was pretty moot.” 

Glenn reclaims the pipe and lies there for a while, smoking and considering. “Suddenly feeling the pressure.”

“Why?”

Because if Robin had any basis for comparison, maybe he wouldn’t be so convinced that Glenn hung the moon. Because Glenn grew up seeing what it’s like when someone undeserving is loved by someone who can’t say no to them. 

“Just, y’know. If you’re gonna be most of the way to fifty before you get a boyfriend, maybe he should be somebody... nicer.”

“You’re nice,” Robin protests. Glenn makes a dismissive sound. “You made me dinner just last night,” Robin says. “You always remember little things that I say I want, and then you find them for me.”

“It doesn’t come naturally, though. I gotta remind myself all the time not to be a lazy asshole. I'm ice skating uphill, here.”

Robin gives him a sympathetic look. “Everybody feels that way sometimes. It’s what you actually do that matters.”

Glenn’s heard that before. That’s the kind of thing people only say because they don’t know what it’s really like inside his head. 

“You’re nice, you’re kind.” Robin insists. He’s trying his best for having just woken up. “You’re _good.”_ He moves closer to Glenn so that he can wrap Glenn in his arms. “Who told you otherwise?”

More than one person, but his memory plays it all back in one voice, the first voice:

_Rude. Selfish. Nasty little punk. Inconsiderate little devil. Lazy little shit._

And then as he got older, and pushed back more:

_Thoughtless. Sociopathic little asshole. Loser. Childish. Disappointment. No son of mine._

Glenn’s stuck listening to the echoes from the past, for how long he doesn’t know. He goes to take another hit, but the ember’s burned out and he lost the lighter somewhere in the blankets. 

Robin takes the cold pipe away from him gently. “When did you come to bed, angel?”

“Um. Like five minutes before I woke you up,” Glenn admits. 

Robin sighs. “That’s what I was afraid of.” Glenn can already tell that Robin’s gonna bring up the therapy thing again. “You promised you’d get back on Lauren’s calendar.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Glenn mutters. 

“Oh, that’s not how that works, and you know it,” Robin says reproachfully. He sits up. Great. Lecture time. “You‘ve gone fully nocturnal, Glenn. You only leave the house to go to Trio stuff or the gym. And you keep having moments like just now, where you freeze up and I can tell you’re somewhere else, somewhere bad. It’s happening a lot.” 

When Glenn doesn’t say anything in response, Robin sighs and nestles in a little closer. “When Piper and I were kids, Dad would sing this old song while we got ready for school. _Button up your overcoat, get to bed by three. Take good care of yourself, you belong to me.”_ Robin laughs a little. “I mean _belong_ sounds strange, but it makes sense, right? When you give somebody your heart, when something hurts them, then…” Robin shrugs. “I can’t not worry about it. It’s part of the whole package.” 

Glenn’s getting a skin-creeping feeling like he just walked into an unseen spiderweb. There’s all these sticky clinging strands running from him to other people now, and he never asked for any of it. He can barely look after Nick. He’s never even really known how to look after himself.

How can he explain that to Robin, who grew up with a dad who sang him dumb little songs? Robin, who’s never happier than when he’s doing dad stuff, who spent an hour on the phone with Connor the other day so he could learn how to fix Nick’s lunches for school perfectly? There’s probably a whole long line of Wrights going back to the Mayflower, all raising nice, normal kids in nice, normal families and teaching each generation how to raise the next without fucking it up. Robin can’t understand what Glenn’s working with, how little he has to go on, how much of everything he’s making up as he goes along. Why do people keep trusting him with this kind of thing? Don’t they realize he doesn’t know what he’s doing? Don’t they know he’s going to ruin--

“Breathe,” Robin says softly. 

Glenn realizes he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s spoken. He inhales, exhales, rubs his mouth with his hand uncomfortably. “Kinda made your point for you there, huh.” 

“It’s okay,” Robin says quietly. “You need a break? We can come back to this later.” 

“Yeah,” Glenn says fervently. “I mean, you’re not wrong. It’s been a long night.” 

Robin nods. 

“Tough couple weeks,” Glenn continues slowly. “Months, I guess.” His shoulders slump and he tries to shake off the tension accumulating in his muscles. “Okay. I’m stuck. Help.” 

“Deep breath,” Robin says. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“That’s what she said,” Glenn mutters on his exhale. He inhales again, breathes out again. “No, that doesn’t make sense, does it.”

“Five things you see,” Robin prompts him.

Glenn looks around the room in the early morning light. “You, blanket, stash box, clock, your reading glasses.” 

“Really?” Robin twists around to check the bedside table. “Oh, there they are.” He turns back. “Four that you can touch?”

“Hmm…” Glenn’s getting bored of this already, which means it’s already working. He pats each thing as he names it. “Pillow, sheets, your pajama top.” He slithers his hand inside said pajama top so he can touch Robin’s chest. “Sexy man.”

“Focus,” Robin says sternly, but doesn’t remove Glenn’s hand.

Glenn rolls his eyes. “I can hear… me talking. You breathing. You glaring at me. That’s three”

“You can’t hear a glare,” Robin objects.

“Maybe _you_ can’t. Two things I can smell are… weed and sexy man.” 

Robin’s starting to crack a smile. 

“Which are also the things I’d like to be tasting, instead of nothing, which counts as the one thing I taste,” Glenn concludes. “All done.” He starts pulling at the sheets again. “This damn lighter was right here, man.” 

“I got it.” Robin grabs another lighter from the lunchbox, leans in and lights the pipe for Glenn instead of handing it over. “Go easy, okay? You’ve been hitting it pretty hard lately.” Glenn doesn’t bother to respond to that one. Not Robin’s lane.

As Glenn exhales, the smoke wreathes around Robin’s face, making him close his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s a glint there that drops a spike of heat straight to Glenn’s groin. Robin’s clearly trying to hold all that back for the moment, though. Bless his dumb horny heart. “How are you doing now?” he asks Glenn. “You want some water? I can get your prescription?”

Glenn shakes his head with a smile. The gathering panic has been dispersed, he’s ready to move on from dealing with all this. He’ll have meds and water on tour, but he’s only got a few more days left with Robin before he leaves. Which, he now remembers, is why Robin took the day off in the first place. 

Robin sees him smile, smiles in response, and leans in for a soft kiss. He makes a surprised sound when Glenn tugs him down for another and doesn’t let go, but he goes with it easily, as ever. 

Robin has this way of kissing that’s somehow sweet and possessive all mixed together. He kisses like he somehow owns Glenn, but also like he couldn’t live without Glenn. It brings out such softness and calm in Glenn that he’s simply… himself. Grounded. Home. Just letting himself be held tight and kissed thoroughly and well. 

Half of Glenn’s attention is devoted to his mouth on Robin’s mouth, the shivers that run through him as he feels Robin’s hunger for him coming through. The other half of his attention is absorbed by every place their bodies are touching: the rhythm of their breathing matching up as their chests touch, the warmth under his hands, the happy shiver when he runs his hand admiringly down Robin’s thigh.

Robin has to take a moment to get out of his pajamas, and pauses while he’s undressing to watch Glenn. He looks like his mouth might literally be watering. Hell yeah, Glenn’s still got it. Getting stared at by somebody out in the world, when they’re picking up on the charm and the fame and the leather pants, that’s easy. Getting this kind of reaction from a man who knows exactly what he has to offer - that’s the real deal. Flattering as all hell. 

Glenn’s eyeing Robin pretty ferociously himself. Thank God he didn’t know what was under those button-downs and slacks when Robin moved in, or he’d have jumped him before he finished unpacking. (And then ghosted, and burned that bridge, and… all in all, it’s better things worked out as they did.) Robin isn’t without his insecurities about his body, and he can join the club on that one. But Glenn wouldn’t change a thing. 

He knew he was in real trouble early on, when he started noticing the weirdest stuff. Wanting to drag his tongue along the curve where the muscles of Robin’s back attach to his spine, feeling the sudden need to bury his nose in the soft inner crook of Robin’s elbow. He can never explain these compulsive urges, never has to. Robin just lets him play to his heart’s content, enjoying being wanted even in these inexplicable ways. Which reminds him. “You good if we switch it up?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Robin murmurs.

Honestly, Glenn could probably predict every step of what’s gonna happen next. By now, they just know what they like. Practice has taught them what the other needs in a given moment, what they’ll be craving a little later, what it sounds like when it’s time to turn up the intensity. Easy as running down a hill.

It’s not long before Glenn’s between Robin’s legs, rocking slow and firm into him. They’ve hardly gotten started and Robin’s already got that hitch in his breath, that barely-there whimper. If Robin ever stopped being such a prude the rest of the time, it would break Glenn’s heart. The contrast between his uptight default and what happens when you rile him up is just too good. 

Robin’s hand is resting warm and firm in the small of Glenn’s back as he moves. _Lovely big hands_ , Glenn catches himself thinking, and laughs at himself mentally. That’s a Robin word that’s gotten incepted into Glenn’s inner monologue. _Lovely. Gorgeous. Angel._ How’d he end up with such a hopeless romantic?

But hell, Glenn can fuck with romance. He dips his mouth to Robin’s in a Hollywood-style, big dramatic kiss, eyes closed. He slows the roll of his hips for a moment, works his tongue deep into Robin’s mouth, then catches Robin’s lower lip between his teeth for only the gentlest of nips. As soon as he starts to move away, Robin pulls him in closer again for more, the big sap. 

As Glenn finally pulls away from the kiss, panting, a lock of his hair falls forward into Robin’s open mouth. Robin spits it out, sputters, and they both start snickering and pause their movement.

He mutters quietly into Robin’s shoulder with an inadvertent grin. “If you can’t get it together, I’m gonna lose it, too.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Robin is still giggling, trying to lower his voice and failing. Glenn grins and touches noses with him for a moment. Sex is ridiculous. They’re ridiculous. But they do have fun.

They soon find their rhythm again, and Robin’s eyelids are fluttering closed in no time flat. He’s dropped straight back into his happy place, halfway swooned like a character on the cover of one of his romance novels. Glenn generally thinks the term _making love_ should be banned by the Geneva Convention, but in moments like this, it maybe kinda makes sense. 

A strange urge comes over Glenn. He didn’t know he wanted this until he thought of it, and now it’s the only thing he can think about.

“Tell me you love me.”

Robin’s eyes open to search Glenn’s.

“No games,” Glenn says. “I just—“

Robin doesn’t let him finish explaining. “I love you.” 

Glenn bends down and claims Robin’s mouth in a rough kiss. They’ve found the perfect pace for their bodies to come together, and Glenn feels like he could stay right here for a very long time. He’s getting hypnotized by the music of it: the delicious counterpoint of their ragged breaths, the quiet noises of skin on skin, the intermittent soft creak of the mattress. The murmured praise that flows from Robin’s lips whenever they’re not touching Glenn, telling him how he’s so wonderful, so beautiful, that being with him is so good, that Robin never wants him to stop. Glenn never wants to stop either. 

That well-earned expertise tells Glenn when it’s the right time to shift his weight onto one arm (and how dare Robin says Glenn only does push-ups for the aesthetic, this takes muscle, dammit) so he can slip his free hand down between their bodies. He closes his hand in a firm but gentle grasp, the rhythm of his strokes matching the rhythm of his hips. “Is that good, baby?”

He already knows the answer, but it’s worth hearing anyway when it’s said in the tight, low tone that Robin only has in moments like this. “So good,” Robin says hoarsely. “You’re so good to me.”

Glenn grins down at him. “I got you, big guy.” He leans down and steals a quick kiss, but doesn’t linger - there’s only so much he can keep track of at once. “It’s all good, I’m right here.”

Robin’s shallow breaths are catching faster now as his head rocks back on the pillow. Glenn’s got his eyes locked on Robin’s, watching intently, murmuring soft and sweet endearments and praise, pacing them just right over the next few minutes to keep the tension building slowly. He knows what kind of dirty talk his hopeless romantic likes best. “I’ll always be good to you, baby, you’re mine. I love you. You’re the one I want…” He smiles as he sees Robin finally bite his lip and close his eyes. The sound Robin makes is somewhere between a groan and a sob and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. Glenn feels an echoing shudder of pride and pleasure run down his own spine. He can make Robin happier than anyone else in the world, and it’s because Robin loves him. Glenn doesn’t always believe his own eyes, but he knows this one thing is true.

As soon as Robin recovers control of his body again, he grabs the sides of Glenn’s head with both hands, pulls him back down into a rough and urgent kiss. Glenn can’t think about anything but how he feels right now. He’s drowning in the instinct to lose himself in this moment. Robin pulls back from the kiss and slides his hands down Glenn’s overheated body to grasp his hips. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that’s right,” Robin murmurs hoarsely. “Your turn. Let me know that I’m yours.” That voice, those words, it’s the last missing piece and he’s gone, pouring himself into Robin’s body with fierce satisfaction. He can’t stop himself from pushing both of them just that little bit harder and farther. Robin’s whimpering again and Glenn’s own voice is low and tight, gritting out “yes, fuck, _yes_.” He finally collapses with his head against Robin’s shoulder. “God _damn._ ” 

Glenn sighs happily as he takes the obligatory moment to catch his breath and let his brain finish rebooting. This part never lasts long enough. Sweaty bodies cool down, stickiness becomes distracting, and muscles threaten to cramp. Still, he dips his mouth down for one more kiss while they’re still so close that they can feel each other breathe. “That’s what I do when I wake up with a gorgeous man in _my_ bed.”

A residual shiver runs through Robin’s body and catches Glenn up as well. “Love you,” Robin murmurs, his mouth only inches from Glenn’s own. Glenn plants one more soft kiss before he starts to untangle them from the sheets and each other.

Once Glenn’s sorted everything out, gotten dressed, and curled up against Robin again, he realizes the tables have turned. Glenn’s feeling better than he has for days, energized, focused, but Robin’s melting into the mattress and already dozing off. Massively unfair. Glenn shakes Robin’s shoulder. “I’ll take that breakfast now.”

Robin throws his arm across his eyes. “We’re closed,” he mumbles. 

“Service with a smile, my ass,” Glenn says. “You conned me.” He sizes up his options, but he already knows where he’s gonna land. “Fine, I’ll make breakfast. But don’t get used to it. This is just to cancel out waking you up on your day off.”

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” Robin yawns. He stretches like a satisfied animal, all dopey and blissed out from the afterglow. Their friends probably assume that Glenn’s the hedonist in this relationship. He’s not even a close second. Robin blinks at Glenn from under heavy eyelids. “Can I ask a nosy question?”

“Better than anyone I know,” Glenn groans, but cuts it with a wink.

“How many boyfriends? Not just for the kill count, but long-term.”

“Counting you?” Glenn stalls.

“Yeah, I count.” 

“Uh… one, I guess.” 

_“_ Interesting _,”_ Robin murmurs sleepily into the pillow. “Very interesting.”

“Hey, it’s not easy to lock this all down,” Glenn adds hastily. “This tiger has to roam free, man.” Glenn untangles himself from the covers and climbs out of bed. “If you’re asleep when I get back, I’m eating your half of the bacon.”

“That’s fair,” Robin yawns. “Would you do me one more favor?” 

“Maybe.”

“Call Lauren today.”

Glenn bites back his instinctive response. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you better make it worth my while.” 

Robin lifts his head and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Glenn groans. “Oh, no, you’re way too easy. Completely devalued that currency, man.” 

“I love it when you turn into Business Major Glenn,” Robin laughs. “Okay, I’ll take you someplace nice.”

Glenn perks up. “Fancy restaurant? Expensive steak? I wanna eat so much wagyu beef that it cancels Henry out entirely.”

“You got it. Name the day.” Robin rolls over and pulls the blankets up, frowns, digs the lighter out from under his ribs, then curls up again. 

“It has to be tomorrow or the day after,” Glenn reminds him. 

“Tomorrow night, then,” Robin says firmly, “I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress nice.”

“Always do,” Glenn shoots back with a grin. Before he leaves, he helps himself to Robin’s robe. Silky and sexy has its place, but Robin has this ridiculously plush gray thing that’s basically a blanket with arms and a hood. No better protection for a chilly November morning, even if Glenn has to push the sleeves up a bit. 

“Nick, call the exorcist,” Robin mumbles from the bed. “The ghost monk is back.”

“One more smart remark out of you…” Glenn warns, but doesn’t finish the threat. When he steps into the hall, the apartment looks very different from an hour ago. Could be the changing light as the sun climbs higher. Glenn resolves to make an extra pot of coffee and stay up for a while. He could fix his famous French toast, Nick’s always psyched when he wakes up to that smell. Maybe the kid can play hooky today and they can all go somewhere fun. There aren’t a lot of days left before the tour, but he can make this one good.


	12. Chapter 12

"Oh yeah, we did the 'put the baby in the pumpkin for their first Halloween thing. It was super cute."  
  
"We did too..."

"Super cute, right?"  
  
"Connor wasn't a fan."


	13. Chapter 13

That Saturday morning, Glenn glances up from the breakfast table to see Connor coming down the hall, clearly about to cause problems on purpose. The kid’s come home for Glenn’s last weekend in town, but he got in late last night so Glenn hasn’t said hi yet. He might not get the chance with the fireworks about to start. Connor is in workout pants and hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt, which means the impressive amount of ink he’s accumulated is on full display. Until this morning, Glenn doesn’t think any of them knew Connor had any tattoos at all, and now he’s throwing them in the deep end. 

Glenn's picked up that Connor's pretty into his grandpa's culture, so it makes sense he went for a traditional Hawaiian bold black ink style. The kid’s definitely pulling it off, and as a tattoo connoisseur, Glenn appreciates the look. As a dude who knows how ambivalent Robin is about tattoos in general, Glenn immediately considers excusing himself from the room. But he can’t abandon Nick, nor does he really want to give up his front row seat. Robin’s version later would probably leave out all the best parts.

Nick has spotted Connor now and his eyes are wide. He and Glenn glance at each other as Connor grabs something out of the fridge. Robin’s fussing over his eggs and doesn’t spot his newly illustrated son immediately. It’s when he sits down at the table with them that he takes a good long look at Connor, who’s drinking a protein shake nonchalantly. 

“Hmm,” Robin says. “That’s quite a look.”

Nick slams his cereal spoon down, startling everyone. “Robin! He looks like he just got out of prison! In Russia!” Robin raises his eyebrows calmly at the outburst. 

“Yeah, also, on that note,” Connor says casually. “I did kinda get arrested a couple weeks ago. It’s squared away, I’m gonna do some community service, but I figured you should hear it from me.”

Interesting gambit, thinks Glenn. Give Robin two separate things to flip out about, and he might only be able to give each half as much attention. Glenn realizes he probably should be taking notes here.

“This isn’t fair,” Nick objects before anyone else can say anything. “Why am I not even allowed to get one little tattoo, but Connor can go hog wild?”

“Because Connor is an adult and he makes all the decisions about his body now.” Robin mentally rewinds a few seconds. “Wait. No. Why am I answering that? Glenn, talk to your son.”

Oh, apparently he’s needed in this discussion. Glenn turns to Nick and makes a vague gesture. “Yeah, that.” There’s a silence and he searches for more to add. “Wait until you’re eighteen.”

“Connor, why didn’t you call me? What happened?” Robin’s asking, but apparently Nick’s not done. He leans in toward Glenn, that familiar Nick temper burning in his eyes.

 _“You_ didn’t wait until you were eighteen,” Nick mutters darkly. “You’re just agreeing with what Robin said because he went full dad mode.”

Glenn double-checks that Robin and Connor are wrapped up in their own discussion before he leans in. He doesn’t want to put Nick on blast in front of everybody, plus Robin has enough to cope with right now. “Probably because you went full little brother mode there, _Nicholas_.”

Nick kicks irritably at Glenn under the table and Glenn grabs his foot. There’s a spirited scuffle before they both settle down enough to tune back into what the Wrights are saying. It’s not an argument exactly, but there’s a weird vibe to the discussion anyway, as if both Connor and Robin expect more pushback than they’re getting. 

“Is it going to affect your scholarships? Or your job?” Robin’s asking. 

“I have to write a reflection paper about it for my advisor. But they don’t really care a ton since it wasn’t violent.” 

“Goodness. Well, I suppose that could have been worse.” Robin says, and takes another forkful of eggs. 

Connor narrows his eyes. “You’re being way too cool about this. Are you having a stroke? Do you smell toast?”

“Of course I smell toast, it’s breakfast,” Robin objects, and Glenn snorts despite himself.

Connor turns his glare to Glenn. “Glenn, you useless thot, you narced me out already.”

“Hey, whoa—“ Glenn protests. 

At the same time Robin draws himself up indignantly, “Connor, _what_ did you just call him?” 

Now Connor’s finally got the fight he was looking for when he walked in, although he might not have meant to set them both off at once. There’s a brief standoff that ends with everyone looking at Glenn, so Glenn gives the brief rundown of bailing Connor out a couple of weeks ago, glancing over to Connor intermittently to see if he wants to add anything. Robin doesn’t say a word when the story is over, just stands up and pulls Connor into a big hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” His voice is shaky, and Connor pats his dad’s back reassuringly. “Thank God you didn’t get hurt,” Robin adds.

Glenn and Connor make eye contact over Robin’s shoulder. Connor’s face has clearly healed up fine. That little secret they can keep between them. Because Glenn’s _not a fucking narc._

“Connor!” Nick has been watching this whole thing play out like a tennis match. “What the hell, man?”

Connor pulls free from his dad’s hug and gives Nick a quick squeeze. “What’s up, dude? Good to see you.” 

Nick wriggles free of the hug. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is badass! I would have made a cake or something!”

Connor laughs, but Glenn’s picking up major distress signals from Robin. The cloth napkin in his hands is gonna turn into a diamond or something if he twists it any tighter. “Kiddo, does your mother know?” Robin asks. 

Connor nods. “Yeah, she’s got those connections. I barely got home before she called me.”

“Psychic connections,” Glenn agrees sagely.

Robin looks over at Glenn with his very-familiar _you’re not helping right now_ face. “Legal connections, sweetheart.” He rubs his forehead with the heels of his hands. “So I’m the last to know?”

“Right?” Nick asks. “Rude.”

Connor shrugs philosophically. “Somebody was gonna be, and Mom liked Glenn’s plan where I told you myself.”

“She did?” Robin asks. 

“She _did?”_ Glenn echoes. He assumed that the spinning arrow of blame was gonna land on him pretty soon and he’d have to defend his choices. Penny backing his play? Unanticipated.

“Mom said if you give me a hard time—“

“—I’m really not,“ Robin protests.

“—I should ask how many times _you’ve_ been arrested.” Connor volunteers. 

Robin blanches. 

“How many, though?” Glenn demands immediately. 

“You deadass, Connor?” Nick asks delightedly at the same time.

Connor takes a swig of his protein shake. “I think she’s been ready to throw you under the bus on that one for a while, Dad.”

Robin stands up and pats his pockets for his phone. “I’m calling her.” He stalks down the hallway a few steps, then backtracks and beckons Glenn. “Come here, please, I need you. What’s that thing you guys always say? The thingy? Dad huddle. Dad huddle with PJ.” Robin paces down the hallway and into the bedroom before Glenn’s even moved.

“Glem getting called up to the big leagues.” Connor gives an impressed whistle and leans back, hands folded behind his head. “Go get ‘em, slugger.”

Glenn stands up from the table and glances at Nick, who looks as much in the dark as Glenn feels. He crams the remaining half of his pop-tart into his mouth and swallows it hastily as he walks down the hall. The Kill Bill sirens are going off in his head. 

When he lets himself into the bedroom, he has to dodge immediately to avoid Robin, who’s pacing the perimeter of the room tight-lipped as he listens to whatever Penny is saying. Robin stumbles avoiding Glenn and catches him by the elbow to steady them both for a second. “Glenn’s here. Hold on for a second, I’m putting you on speaker.” 

Robin sits down on the edge of the bed as he fiddles with the phone. Glenn gives him a little shove on the shoulder to prompt him to lie down, and Robin obediently flops backward with a groan. He sets the phone on his own chest and folds his hands on his stomach as he settles in. For a moment he’s about to speak, but he waits while Glenn gets comfortable next to him. 

Robin’s stress has put the fear straight into Glenn, and now he’s doing a threat scan that keeps returning incomplete data. Robin’s body is unmistakably humming with tension, but he doesn’t seem to regard Glenn as the source. When Glenn cautiously moves a little closer, Robin makes a contented sound and rests his hand on the back of Glenn’s head. Now if Glenn can just get a read on Penny, he’ll be able to figure out how much trouble he’s in.

Robin sighs. “Okay, go ahead.”

Penny’s voice rings out from the speaker, picking up her argument as though she’d never been interrupted. “Listen, honey, he’ll do some volunteer hours and if he stays out of trouble for a year, it’s off his record. Try to keep it in proportion.”

“Hey P-dubs,” Glenn interjects. “Did Connor give you the vinyl I sent last time?”

“Yeah, and you were right, it sounds so much better than the CD.” 

“Why’d you have to drop a dime on me though, Pen?” Robin interrupts plaintively. “I was _just_ about to talk to him about it.”

“Drop a dime?” Glenn echoes with amusement. He wishes Nick were here.

“You’ve been _just about to talk to him about it_ for years, kid,” Penny replies skeptically. 

“Well…” Robin shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe I was waiting to see if it was really necessary.”

“So which is it, you were about to tell him or you didn’t think it was necessary?” Penny responds sharply.

“Oh, don’t cross-examine me,” Robin says miserably. “I know I fucked this up.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and Glenn finds he’s holding his breath. He keeps waiting for one of them to hang up, and it keeps not happening. He decides to throw his hat in the ring. “It’s not a big deal that it happened, baby. But if you don’t talk to him and he has to figure it out some other way, that’s gonna be a big deal. You know he holds a grudge.”

“Exactly. And I had to give him something.” Penny sounds sympathetic, but not apologetic. “He was really worried that he’d let you down, that you’d be disappointed in him.”

“Oh, no,” Robin says. “Of course not. He’s going to be disappointed in _me_.” His voice is getting unsteady, and Glenn feels like he should do something. Maybe he’s not the target here? So then what? Maybe he’s the emotional support animal in this equation. He takes Robin’s hand, but can’t really think of what else to do that isn’t distracting. Not really his area of expertise.

Glenn tunes in and out of the conversation over the next few minutes. The Wrights are strategizing and when they’re in the drift, it’s like eavesdropping on a language he doesn’t speak. 

“I just don’t want—“

“No, obviously—“ 

“Although—“

“Right, that’s a consideration.”

Glenn plays with Robin’s hand idly while he waits for them to finish. He finds himself studying how their hands look, resting together on his chest. Both sets of nails are short, his own for guitar and Robin’s because he files them short to keep from biting them. There are leftover flakes of black polish on Glenn’s nails, and he reminds himself to take care of that before the show in a few days. His normal pre-tour prep hasn’t made it to the top of his priority list lately. Glenn’s fingertips are calloused, but Robin wears his own callouses across the top of his palms and the inside of his thumbs, where he grips the handlebars of his bike. There’s the silver ring on Glenn’s own hand, the bare place on Robin’s. Robin’s slight summer tan is fading, but there’s still a line across his wrist from his watchband, burned in when they spent far too long outside on a bar patio a few months ago. It was a slow afternoon, and the guy working in the kitchen had taken a shine to them and started bringing out small plates of dishes he was testing out. The weather was perfect, they'd been just the right level of buzzed, the hours had flown past. Robin had gotten a little overcooked. These things happen.

“Glenn,” Robin says, in that tone that indicates it’s not the first time he’s tried to get Glenn’s attention. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Do you want me to talk to Nick at the same time as I talk to Connor? You know, two birds, one stone.”

Glenn blinks at Robin for a second. When did Nick become a part of this discussion?

“You’re right, separate conversation,” Robin says. He turns to speak to the phone again. “Okay. I think we’ve got it under control over here.”

“Good. Remember to breathe,” Penny says. “And Glenn, I appreciate the thought, but no more fun little surprises in the box when you send stuff with Connor, okay? He’s on probation.” 

Glenn clears his throat awkwardly. “You got it.”

“Okay,” Robin says to the phone. “Thanks for the help, Pen.”

“You got this, boy wonder. Love you. Bye, Glenn.” 

“Love you, bye,” Robin says absently as he hangs up. Glenn’s too off-balance to say his own goodbye in time. He’s heard them do that before, but it's still weird.

“So I'm not in trouble?” Glenn asks, just to be sure.

“You? No, angel, of course not. I’m just glad he called you.“ Robin says, still sounding a little shaky. “Thank you for helping him.” 

“Yeah, of course, Connor’s my boy.”

Robin takes a long, deep breath in and then exhales slowly. “Am I doing okay with him, Glenn? I genuinely have no idea right now.”

Glenn tries not to scoff out loud. The situation must be pretty dire if Robin’s asking him for parenting advice. “Of course you’re doing okay. He’s just messing around, baby, he’s figuring it out.” 

“But he’s trying to figure it out without me,” Robin says, dejected. “I want to help. I’m glad he called you, but he didn’t call me.” 

Glenn maneuvers his chin onto Robin’s chest so they can talk face to face. “Did you call your dad when it happened to you?”

Robin groans. “Didn’t get a choice. Generally got driven home in the back of the squad car. The privileges of being Sergeant Wright’s son.” He presses the heels of his hands into his forehead like he’s staving off a headache.

Glenn can’t contain his curiosity anymore. “So, uh… what did you do?” 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Robin mutters. “Dumb shit, sweetheart, just all the dumb shit. You saw the pictures, I’m sure you can guess. Drug stuff. Stuff that the Commonwealth of Massachusetts considered ‘lewd, wanton, and lascivious.’ Trying to keep up with self-destructive people stuff. What was the thing you said the other night? Easily-led horny idiot?” Robin’s shaking his head emphatically. “I would never let Connor hang out with that kid. So embarrassing."

Glenn's never heard Robin talk this resentfully about someone. “You’re still pretty mad at that kid, huh? Damn, no wonder you give off narc energy.”

“I know,” Robin says sadly. “I’m not mad at Connor, though. Or Penny. Or you. Just my own dumb asshole self, from about 1996 to… present.” 

“Hey,” Glenn says.

“What?”

“Be nice. Nobody talks about my boyfriend like that. I'll kick your ass." 

That gets a startled, delighted laugh from Robin. Glenn gives him an affectionate shove. “Go talk to him, baby. Take yourself off the pedestal a little bit. Be his bro, not just his dad.” 

“Be his bro,” Robin echoes dubiously. 

“Be his friend,” Glenn says. “You’re both cool guys. You’d get along.”

“I’m not cool,” Robin says. 

“I only date cool people,” Glenn replies. "Now cowboy up, motherfucker. Clock's ticking. The boys and I are going to the shooting range later, and Rusty has a strict no bad vibes policy." 

"Yeah, he's very picky about who gets to shoot beer bottles off fence posts on his weird ranch," Robin mumbles under his breath. Good. Much like his son, a Robin who's ready to give Glenn a hard time is a Robin who's feeling better. 

"What's your problem with Rusty? You only met him that one time, at the Army surplus."

"Yeah, and he made two thinly veiled death threats while you were looking at the crossbows," Robin says. 

"Oh, he doesn't like anybody I date," Glenn says dismissively. "Now move your ass. The Wright boys and their drama don't get to steal focus on my last weekend in town. Bad form." 

"I'm on it," Robin says, but he doesn't get up. Instead he curls in a little closer for another moment's reassurance. "Thanks for being here and talking to Pen and all." 

Glenn shrugs noncommittally. "I respect the summons of the dad huddle." 

"More like dad _cuddle,_ " Robin says. The words barely have hit Glenn's brain before Robin's rolling off the bed to escape his wrath. The tricky bastard is out the door a split second before the pillow that Glenn threw hits the doorframe. 

"I'll kill you," Glenn mutters to the empty room, but he doesn't bother getting up.   
  
  
***

Only-slightly-related-art of the chapter: it's a good school, dude.   
  



	14. Chapter 14

**_Nick_ **

“Final game of the season. The stakes have never been higher,” Connor murmurs in a golf commentator voice. He’s slouched on the couch next to Grant and Nick, playing Smash while the dads get ready to go out. “Sources are hinting that Close may actually attempt a three-piece suit. Will the legend risk a daring new play tonight? Or will he stick to the fundamentals with the same thing he’s been wearing since 2004? Either way, I can confidently say: they will be late for their reservation.” 

“Spectators on the edge of their seats this evening,” Nick picks up seamlessly. “There’s a great energy in the crowd, a lot of anticipation for this sneak peek into whether tomorrow’s breakfast will be victory eggs or apology waffles.” 

“Talk to me about the preparation that goes into a game like tonight’s, Nicholas.” 

“There’s simply no substitute for getting high in the bathtub. That’s what it comes down to,” Nick replies sagely. “At this level, you gotta know how to minimize the liabilities that your playstyle brings. In this case, that means not putting on anything nice until the absolute last minute.”

“A lesson learned the hard way with the salsa incident last season.”

“Absolutely. Close won’t fall for that one again.” 

Grant looks like he’s focused on the game, but the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth tells Nick everything he needs to know. The Wilsons raised a polite young man, but how seriously can anybody possibly take the scene unfolding around them?

“Coming back around on lap number five,” Connor points out as Glenn wanders past in his boxers, his hair still damp, the ever-present joint smoldering in his hand. Robin is in his usual dress shirt and slacks, following behind Glenn and begging him to just put some clothes on so they can leave. “Close still in the lead, pulling ahead with a surge of speed… yes… Can he do it? Yes, he’s gotten into the bedroom and locked himself inside.”

“Ah, you hate to see it, Connor.” 

“Indeed, but these are the kind of bold moves you get when it’s down to the wire.”

“Longtime sports fans will remember that Wright is not above simply picking up his opponent,” Nick adds. “Close’s defensive game has evolved accordingly.” 

“I will leave without you, Glenn, I’m serious this time.” Robin stalks out of the hallway and slumps down onto the couch next to Connor. 

“You got him on the ropes, Dad,” Connor says. “He definitely believes you.”

Robin puts his feet up on the coffee table next to Connor’s in a perfect mirror of his son’s leggy sprawl, and Nick has a weird moment where he remembers that they’re actually related. Connor doesn’t look much like his dad at first glance, but side by side like this, it’s clear his build is all Robin. 

“Did you win?” Robin asks. 

“Yeah, Dad, I won the whole Nintendo,” Connor says, deadpan. “I’m a gamer boy.” He hands the controller to Robin. “This is your regular attack, that’s your special. Go like this for the smash.” 

Robin looks nonplussed, but navigates to Captain Falcon. Of course he picked the dude who’s just a dude, Nick thinks. When the match starts, it's all button mashes, but Robin gets the hang of it pretty quick. He doesn’t totally know what he’s doing, but 80% intentional moves and 20% total unpredictable accidents actually make for a harder match than Nick would have anticipated. He still wins easily, but: “Respect, Robin.” 

“Serious deja vu,” Robin replies. “This is the same game it was 20 years ago, but with better graphics. Rematch?”

Grant and Nick exchange apprehensive glances, but Connor just borrows the controller back for a second so he can outfit Robin’s avatar in the far superior pink costume. Starfox for Connor, Pit for Grant. Having mastered Kirby, Nick is continuing his strategic skills development with Dedede.

Nick hears the bedroom door open. “Ready to go?” Glenn asks from the hall. 

“Just a second,” Robin mutters.

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me,” Glenn huffs. “I thought we were running late.” 

Robin ignores him. Captain Falcon is dashing around the screen in a color-shifting blur. “Look at my rainbow powers! I’m Captain Pride,” Robin says happily. “I’m gonna kill all of you.” 

“Neutral special, Dad,” Connor says. “You gotta… no, stop, what are you… ugh.” 

Grant seems to be hovering Pit out of the melee entirely, reluctant to get in the middle of the chaos. 

“Oh shit, we’re playing Smash?” Glenn asks. “I’ll go take my pants back off.”

“No, we’re not,” Robin mutters. “We have an eight o’clock reservation.” 

“You said 7:30,” Glenn objects.

“I lied.” Robin finally manages to send a car bounding across the screen, but everyone dodges easily. “Shit, you distracted me.”

Glenn scoffs loudly. “I distracted you from _realizing you had to aim?”_ Robin ignores him and regroups, landing a sudden strike on Connor. That does it, Robin’s too much of a wildcard. By unspoken assent, the three boys team up to eliminate him as swiftly as possible while Glenn shouts unhelpful advice. It’s not long before Robin has to concede defeat. 

When Robin puts the controller down and turns to look at Glenn, his sudden indrawn breath startles Nick so badly it almost costs him the match. Nick glances past Robin to Glenn, mentally rolls his eyes, and turns his attention back to the screen. So his dad put on a suit. The Close boys can rock any style, there’s no need for Robin to get dramatic about it. Glenn didn’t even bother with a tie.

“Wright’s down for the count… nine… ten, and yes, and it’s all over, it’s all over,” Connor declares in his announcer voice. He’s not taking his eyes off the videogame as far as Nick can tell, but Grant still gets the drop on him. “Shit. Knockout.” 

“Damn right,” Glenn says smugly. “I look good.” 

“You look amazing,” Robin says. “I feel underdressed, should I go change?”

“You’ve got cufflinks, there’s nowhere in California where that's gonna be _underdressed,”_ Glenn points out as Grant finally delivers the coup de gras, deadpan but for a tiny smirk.

“Dammit! Would you get out of here?” Nick slams the controller onto the couch. “Dad, you’re distracting me. Robin, you only have him until tomorrow morning and then it’s Close boys hours. Get _moving.”_

“You’re right.” Robin slaps his knees and stands up, taking Glenn by the elbow and steering him to the door.

“Wright is gracious in utter defeat,” Connor adds. “Bringing some true class to the game.”

“Thanks, it’s all the practice,” Robin mumbles. He pushes Glenn out the door in front of him. “Try not to burn the place down. You can charge delivery on my card if you get hungry. We love you.” 

Once they’re gone, Nick rolls his eyes. “Sorry you had to be exposed to that,” he mutters. “That’s my life now, by the way.” 

“Oh, look who’s suddenly offended by tender gay shit,” Connor says mockingly. “Whatever, dude, just be grateful my dad hasn’t realized that Glenn’s actually three raccoons in a leather jacket.”

Grant’s mouth has a hint of a smile. He won’t usually give Nick a hard time directly, but he loves when Connor does. It’s putting him on the defensive. “No, _you_ should be grateful that _my_ dad hasn’t realized that Robin’s a, uh…” 

Nick thought he’d just start the sentence and come up with something by the time he got to the end. “I’m just saying, man,” Nick concludes weakly. “He’s punching above his weight class.” 

Without a joke to cut it, his words sound meaner than he intended, and an awkward silence follows. There’s nothing actually wrong with Robin. Nick just wants to be sure everyone’s clear that Robin better be busting his ass to make sure Glenn’s happy, not the other way around. His dad’s a catch, dammit.

Nick’s debating whether saying something else will help when Connor cuts the silence with a haughty tone. “Dost thou insult my kinsman, Lord Nicholas?” 

Nick grins. One of them - he can’t even remember which - started doing this during a squabble once and it’s become their dumb way to defuse a tense vibe. “Thou hath started the shit-talking, milord.”

“Verily,” Connor admits. “A grievous error. Truce? Or shall blood be spilled this day?”

“Truce,” Nick says. 

“You guys are so weird,” Grant mutters. 

Nick gives him a small shove and gets shoved back. “Just start the match. I’ll prove you only beat me because I was distracted.”

Grant shrugs and sets up for the new match. Nick rolls his shoulders and leans forward intently. Eye of the tiger. He has a reputation to uphold.   
  



	15. Chapter 15

It's cuz they're always on those _phones._  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**_Glenn_ **

If Glenn doesn’t cancel out Henry’s years of veganism at his hard-earned steak dinner, at least it’s not for lack of trying. He knows the best hole-in-the-wall places in town for almost any cuisine you can name, but Robin’s found a good venue for their date tonight. Great chef, stellar service, and the kind of place that doesn’t mind if you take your sweet time. The suit was the right move. This is a legit special occasion.

As ever when good food is involved, they’ve gone all out. The only thing that makes Robin happier than tasting a well-prepared meal is getting Glenn to taste it, too. They’re currently studying the dessert menu and debating creme brûlée and pavlova or creme brûlée and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Glenn’s leaning toward the strawberries. He can picture the blissed-out face Robin will make when he bites into one, and he wants to see it.

Along with being Glenn’s last night out with Robin before he leaves on tour, it’s also his last chance to enjoy some good food. Dominic has booked them a schedule without any of the days off that are Glenn’s favorite part of touring. If once a week or so, he can sneak out and see some cool shit, taste some legit-ass local cuisine, maybe go get high on a beach for a while, it recharges him enough for another few shows. But Dominic’s put “meal provided on bus” about 95 times on their itinerary. Allegedly the marching rations are for efficiency, but Glenn has his suspicions about Dominic’s motives. Glenn’s put on a couple of pounds keeping up with Robin’s epicurean tendencies, and some verbal sideswipes recently have led him to suspect that Dominic doesn’t approve. 

Not that Dominic knows why he’s rocking a slightly juicier ass than usual - Glenn hasn’t said a word about Robin to them, and never plans to. The good parts of his life and the less good parts need to stay far away from each other. But eight shows a week and cold box lunches will rapidly put an end to whatever softness he’s acquired. Personally, he doesn’t give a shit, but Dominic’s always got a sharp eye on that kind of thing. And in fairness, according to his own calculations, he needs to be able to fit into his stage leather pants for at least five more years before they give a decent return on investment.

He tunes back in just in time to hear Robin ask: “Why not just two orders of the strawberries?” Glenn smiles, but before he can respond, Robin suddenly tenses, stiffening right up into the humorless narc that Glenn assumed he lived next to all those years. Glenn doesn’t look back to see what Robin’s spotted behind him.

“What’s up?” Glenn asks softly. “We need to get outta here?” He’s looking for improvised weapons and potential exit routes. He was already prone to scrapping before Faerun, but a couple near-death experiences can really make a guy jumpy.

“No, it’s not…” Robin sighs. “It’s fine. You can look.” 

As usual, the thing that’s made Robin panic wouldn’t even have registered on Glenn’s radar. It’s just some old rich lady that his mother knows. One of those women whose name is like, Pinkie or Bunny or something else a stuffed animal would be called. She doesn’t appear to be holding a stick of cartoon dynamite or anything else that would justify Robin’s reaction. Maybe he has a phobia of elderly women who own horses, and it’s just never come up before. 

“Oh, it’s two of my favorite boys,” Binky chirps. “I didn’t know you two knew each other. Isn’t this a delightful surprise?” She stops Robin with a light touch on the shoulder as he tries to stand up. “No, don’t get up, I was just on the way back from the powder room and wanted to say a teensy hello.” Robin sits back down with a grimace. 

“Glenn, it was so nice running into you and your mother the other day at the club,” the intruder continues, patting his shoulder in a way that makes him want to judo flip her. “And Robin, how’s your lovely wife? How’s the family?”

“Penny’s doing well,” Robin says, and his voice sounds reasonably normal even if Glenn can still read tension in his frame. “Connor just started his freshman year at Santa Barbara. He’s thinking about pre-med.” 

Muffy makes a face that’s probably supposed to be a smile. “Oh, isn’t that lovely?” 

She and Robin slip right into that bland small-talk thing that Glenn’s never been any good at. He catches the waiter’s eye during the downtime and orders their desserts, plus some coffee. Something tells him that they’re about to have one of those “previously on” conversations that they run into from time to time. It feels like he and Robin have known each other forever, but they still surprise each other pretty regularly. Maybe that’s just what happens when you get together with someone after you’ve each been living a whole life for a couple decades. Nobody’s trying to keep secrets, but they don’t spend their time together poring over life stories. They’re more likely to talk about movies or outer space or argue for an hour about whether it makes more sense to call them one-way or two-way mirrors. 

It’s fun to get Robin riled up, then sit back and enjoy the show. There’s a rarely-seen bitchy side that jumps out when Robin gets wound up and opinionated, and Glenn enjoys seeing the old man in full rant. He only tunes in to about 80%, but it’s fine. That’s around how much Robin ever tracks when Glenn gets going on his effects pedal monologues and moon landing theories. It might not work for everybody, but it suits them. Sometimes a man just wants to think out loud for a while and get a “hell, yeah” when he runs out of steam. 

So yeah, they occasionally have a moment where they have to drop everything and fill in some backstory. The other day Robin had been bewildered (and then into it) when he overheard Glenn on the phone to a booking agent, speaking fluent Japanese. It just hadn’t come up before, somehow, or Glenn would have been shamelessly exploiting it long before this. At any rate, he’s counting on the espresso to get him through whatever explanation there is for Robin’s sudden fear of old money with osteoporosis.

“Not if I see you first!” Binky chuckles. Glenn blinks as she leans in to kiss the air next to his cheek (weird) and does the same to Robin before she finally leaves. Robin slumps down with relief once she’s out of sight. They’re momentarily distracted by their dessert arriving. Robin bites into a strawberry and yeah, Glenn fuckin called it. What little poker face Robin has goes toward blanking out the bad stuff, and his enjoyment of the good stuff is always broadcast on all screens and channels. Nasty boy. 

“Hey. Real quick. What the _fuck_ was that about?” Glenn asks.

“Okay, listen,” Robin finally says. “I was going to bring this up.” 

Glenn raises his eyebrows in a _nice try_ expression. He loves the guy, but he’s heard this one before. Robin walks around at all times with six months’ worth of stuff he believes he’s going to ‘get squared away’ within the next week. 

“Penny always has these fundraising things, these banquets and such. She has to network,” Robin says. “Incredibly tedious. At least the drinks are free. But you run into the same people over and over.”

“Uh-huh,” Glenn says. “That doesn’t explain why you were acting like the lady pulled a gun on you. Spill the rest.”

”Um… Penny still borrows me for these events sometimes,” Robin confesses. 

“And? Do they hunt humans for sport or something?”

“And… people in that particular circle think we’re still married.”

Glenn gives a disbelieving laugh.

“Well, she only sees these people a half-dozen times a year,” Robin hastens to explain, “and she wants to talk to them about important stuff, not her personal life. They’re so goddamn gossipy, and they'd start trying to set her up on dates. It’d be a nightmare.”

“Every time I think I’ve adjusted to how you relate to your ex-wife, you throw another curveball at me, man. Has this come up since I’ve been, y’know, in the picture?”

“One time, but you were out of town,” Robin admits sheepishly. 

Glenn makes an inarticulate noise of disbelief. “And nobody at any point in the past couple of decades has gone, ‘hold the fucking phone, who let in a reformed tweaker with a bondage fetish?’”

“I can fake my way through a boring conversation, come on. I just punt everything back to Penny. She’s the one who knows what she’s talking about, anyway.” Robin takes in Glenn’s skeptical look. “If somebody really puts me on the spot, I just say ‘it’s all about finding that balance.’ Works every time.” He sighs. “I seem to be expert-shaped.”

“Yeah, quite the cross to bear,” Glenn responds dryly. 

“It is when those people think that I want to talk politics with them,” Robin says regretfully. “Anyway, I’ll tell her we need to knock it off. It’s too weird.”

“Absolutely not, man. Always be scamming.” 

“You’re sure it’s not weird?” 

“I said it wasn’t _too_ weird,” Glenn corrects him. “It’s still fucking weird. And I’m pretty sure this means Penny owes me.” 

Glenn takes a thoughtful bite out of a strawberry. “Wait, she thinks you’re married to Penny but she didn’t bat an eye at us out together?”

“Probably assumed I’m your sugar daddy,” Robin says wryly. 

“Fucking finally,” Glenn says. “A little respect.” Robin laughs and Glenn grins back. “Go for it, baby, she can feel free to borrow you if it makes her life easier. But if she wants to borrow you for anything more, you gotta let me watch.” 

Robin must be getting used to Glenn’s sense of humor, because he barely reacts to that one. “Some doors stay closed,” he says absently, absorbed again in the dessert. “Anyway, that’s my big confession. Seems silly now that I’ve said it. How do _you_ know her?”

“Like she said,” Glenn replies. “Seen her a few times when I’ve had lunch with mom at the club. They’re on a charity board together or something, I don’t pay attention.”

“But what does ‘the club’ mean?” Robin demands. “What club? I thought it was like how ‘the shooting range’ means you’re going to Rusty’s.”

Glenn gives Robin a long look. Kinda thought he was smarter than this. “No dude, like, _the club_. Where rich people play golf and shit.” He can tell Robin’s mental gears are still jammed. “Did you not… I figured Connor had looped you in or something.” 

Well, damn. Now it’s suddenly awkward. “The Close family has… money. Like, ‘fuck you money’ type money. Or at least, Del does. Bill was just a gold-digger.” 

Robin is doing the thing he does when he’s trying to let Glenn finish talking before reacting. He temples his fingers together, presses his forefingers against his lips like that’ll keep the words in. The effect makes him look like he’s praying for strength. 

Glenn rubs at his own face uncomfortably. “I mean, the money part is pretty self-explanatory. I was raised as a spoiled little asshole, I’m sure you’re shocked.” 

Robin starts to say something, then stops himself with effort and lets the silence stand. 

Glenn takes a strawberry off the plate and picks the leaves off it one by one as he thinks through what he wants to say next. Because yeah, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know why he assumed Robin knew about the money stuff. He’s never introduced Robin to Del, and he doesn’t talk a lot about his childhood. Connor wouldn’t spontaneously disclose details of Glenn’s financials, even to his own dad. Maybe Glenn should have been picking up the check here and there, but damn. Robin really loves spoiling him, why ruin his fun? 

That’s a bad thought. Maybe Robin’s only so lavish because he thinks Glenn can’t afford nice things, and it’s a way to keep Glenn dependent on him. Maybe the sugar daddy thing wasn’t 100% a joke. Maybe Pinky just blew up their whole spot. No time to think about that right now, though, while Robin’s patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I told both my parents to go fuck themselves when I turned 18. Didn’t really talk to Bill again before he died. Well, until--” he presses his lips together tightly for a moment, unwilling to summon that particular ghost. “Anyway, I walked away from all of it. I was doing okay with gigs, but then…” 

If he avoided bringing this up before, and he’s not admitting that he did, this is why. Where’s the convenient fade and dissolve to the end of this conversation? Why does money have to have its hooks dug deep into all the stuff he doesn’t want to talk about?

“I couldn’t really work for a while, after the accident. Del came through for me and Nick, big time. No strings attached, she just carved off a chunk and said ‘this is yours.’ She’s not… warm. But she didn’t have to do that.”

There’s a long pause while Robin gets his head around all that. “But you’re so frugal,” Robin says pensively. “Except for your drones and such.” Glenn watches Robin thinking for a moment. He’s clearly playing memories back to see if he should have spotted this twist in advance.

Robin's face cracks into an incredulous frown. “I’ve seen you pick up a burrito that somebody left on the ground next to a trash can and eat it.”

“Rich dad, poor dad, baby. Don’t spend money you don’t gotta spend.” Glenn shrugs. “Perfectly good burrito.”

“You tried to deep tongue me afterward,” Robin hisses at him. 

“Yeah,” Glenn says, exasperated. “I was making a point. Because you were being a killjoy about my free burrito.” 

That side tangent is tabled as the waiter delivers their after-dinner espresso and clears the dessert plates. Glenn just sits back for a minute, sipping his black while Robin stirs a bit of sugar into his own. He sighs. “Honestly, man, I think of it as Nick’s money. We used some to live while I wasn’t working, I put some of it into getting the Trio off the ground. Finally finished putting everything I borrowed back a couple years ago. We live on what the Trio brings in, and whatever’s left over, I put onto the pile for him.”

Glenn smiles faintly. “Except toys, you got me there. The Close boys have been known to treat themselves. And outsourcing stuff, like I used to do with Connor. Rather not spend my Nick time running errands and doing dishes.” 

Glenn tries to think of what else to say, and eventually just shrugs. He can’t sum up in a few words what it’s like being 19 and feeling better about sleeping on a mattress he found beside the road than under Del’s elegant Italianate roof. “It was just me and Nick out there alone on the tightrope for a while. Del put a safety net under us. I made sure it got bigger. It’s the only way to be sure that if anything happens to me, he’s taken care of. If I can't work, or if I'm... not around, he won't have to deal with that on top of everything else." 

“I see.” Robin spreads his hands flat on the table and stares at them for a minute. Glenn knows this one. Ol’ Heart-Eyes is trying to figure out how to dial down the intensity of his sentiments by about 80% before he says them out loud. Robin eventually settles on, “I’m always happy to look after him, sweetheart.”

From experience, Glenn’s pretty sure the original version of that sentiment was something along the lines of, _if anybody so much as thinks about looking at Nick wrong, I’ll murder them with a sword._ Mmm. Robin with a sword. Robin with a sleeveless shirt and a sword. Good mental image. 

“I know that, baby. If you weren't right next door, I wouldn’t be letting him stay at the apartment while I’m gone.” He covers Robin’s hand with his reassuringly. “But I gotta stay on that hustle, you know? I’m thinking long-term.” 

Robin presses his lips together tightly and nods. “Sure," he says levelly. "Thinking long-term makes sense."

The waiter comes to drop the check off at the table. Robin doesn’t react any differently, just pulls his reading glasses out for a moment to look over the receipt while he gets his card. Robin doesn’t notice Glenn being weird until he looks up. “What?”

Glenn hesitates. "Nothing."

But he can't get away with that around Robin at this point. It's the downside of those laser-beam heart-eyes. Robin looks down at the check and up again at Glenn with an understanding expression. "I like to," he said firmly. 

"I could afford it, though," Glenn presses. 

"I've always assumed you could afford it," Robin says. "But it makes me happy, okay? I don't get to spend money on you very much. And besides, you definitely earned this one by calling Lauren."

"That's true," Glenn says. "We can't take away your ability to bribe me." 

"Then let's not worry about it," Robin says. 

"It's that easy?" 

"Sometimes," Robin says with a smile, "it's just that easy." 

Once the check is settled, they stand up and retrieve their jackets before leaving the restaurant. Glenn settles into the passenger seat of the car, buckles up, and then has to stop for a second as he feels his stomach sink. It takes a moment to figure out why he's suddenly bummed out after having such a nice time. It's just the finality of the vibes, really. He likes getting treated and he likes celebrations, but he doesn't like doing the last of anything, even if it's only the last one for a while. “Man, I don’t want to be done already. Let’s go for a drive or something.” 

“Really? I don’t want to wear you out when you and Nick have plans tomorrow. “

“Come on, we’ll still be back before midnight. I don’t want to end our night on that note. Let’s go do something fun. Let's get into a little trouble."

Robin smiles and leans across to give Glenn a quick kiss before he starts the car. "Okay. But not too much trouble."

Glenn grins. "I'm not making any promises."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Glenn** _

They drive up the coast for a while, sometimes talking and sometimes just listening to music. There are still older and quieter stretches of road to be found if you know where to look. They talk for a while at first, but eventually they lapse into a comfortable silence. 

Glenn’s almost dozing off, lost in his thoughts. Then he suddenly sits up straight in the passenger seat before he’s even fully conscious of why. “Turn down this road, baby, right here, right here.“

Robin pulls the wheel hard to the right just in time. He slows down quite a bit as they go, since the road is winding and not well lit. Glenn directs him through a few more turns and they end up at the edge of an area blocked off for development but not under construction yet. They stop the car at a scenic overlook at the top of a bluff. 

Glenn gets out to go lean on the railing and Robin joins him, putting an arm around his waist. It’s a little chilly with the wind up here, but the night is beautiful. The sky is clear and the full moon is reflected on the water. Below them, the ocean breaks softly against a sandy beach, gray in the moonlight.

“How did you know this was here?” Robin asks softly.

Glenn shrugs. “I like to drive around. Helps me think. I find weird places sometimes.” 

“The stars are beautiful.”

Glenn looks up. “They’re okay. I never realized how much we miss because of the light pollution.”

“Until Faerun?”

“Yeah.” 

They take in the view before them for a long moment. It looks like the ocean goes on forever, but of course, there’s a whole continent full of people on the far side. Glenn will be there soon, and all this distance will be between him and the people he loves. It’s only some space, and some time. He always gets through it. But it’s getting harder, not easier. 

“Would you come with me?” he asks suddenly. “I’m sure we could figure out something for Nick, bring him along, even. Once we’re over there, we’re mostly using the bus to get around. There’d be space. You guys could crash in my hotel room.”

Glenn feels Robin sigh, and he knows the answer before Robin even has to speak. “It’s still a couple of weeks until the end of the semester,” Robin says gently. “We can’t just pull Nick out of school.” 

Glenn’s mouth tightens unhappily. “I know.” He huffs out a breath. “You could just pop over for a few days? Meet me in Bangkok or something?”

Robin shakes his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got work except for Christmas, and I can’t miss Christmas with the family. Or leave Nick alone on…” 

He trails off and there’s an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry,” Robin says. “I’d love to travel with you, but I need more notice. I can’t… that’s just not me. I’m getting stressed out just thinking about it.”

“It’s fine.” Glenn’s disappointed, of course, but he didn’t really expect a yes. “I just had to ask. Think about it for next year, maybe.”

“I will.” Robin pulls Glenn a little tighter to his side. “I wish I were more spontaneous,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, really,” Glenn says. “That was a lot.” He leans his weight against Robin’s side and tries to let go of the dull familiar ache of feeling left behind. He’s the one who’s leaving, and Robin will be here when he gets back unless the whole damn state slides into the ocean before then. The mental image gives him an idea. 

“You wanna be just a little spontaneous?” Glenn doesn’t wait for an answer before hopping over the railing to the rocky ground on the other side. Robin reaches out and catches his wrist before he can go any further. 

“Glenn, what are you doing?”

“We’re gonna go look at the water.” Glenn says. “There’s a trail that goes down from here.”

“You’ll fall,” Robin says anxiously. His hand around Glenn’s wrist is like an iron band. It suits them sometimes to pretend that they don’t hold back physically, but they never seriously test their strength against each other. For the first time, Glenn’s not sure that he could break Robin’s hold if he wanted to. Robin must be very scared.

“It’s okay.” Glenn looks up and makes sure he’s got Robin’s full attention, his calm dark eyes locked on Robin’s worried hazel ones. “Just come over to where I am, baby. It’s not as steep as it looks. Trust me.”

Robin holds his gaze for a moment, considering, then lets go of Glenn’s wrist so he can hop the railing and join him on the other side. 

The trail zigzags back and forth down the side of the bluff. They’re not exactly dressed ideally for this kind of activity, but before long they’re safely down on the sandy strip that the tide has revealed. The beach ends in a pileup of loose rocks, but a few minutes of careful climbing gets them to a much larger section of shoreline. The cliff’s edge here softens to a hill, and there are beach houses here and there above the shore. 

There’s also a chain-link fence between them and the bigger beach, but if Glenn worried about stuff like fences and locks and Danger: High Voltage signs, he’d never see anything cool. The fence runs close to a cluster of scrubby coastal trees, and a branch has spread far enough over the fence to make a perfect entry point. 

“I think this is private property,” Robin says. 

“Obviously,” Glenn says. “Give me a boost so I can grab that branch and climb over, I can’t quite reach.”

Robin shrugs and offers his hands to Glenn as a step up. It’s easy from there. Glenn jumps down to the ground on the other side of the fence and dusts off his hands. “Whatcha waiting for? Come on, old man. Jump and pull yourself up.”

Robin looks skeptical. “You think so?”

“If you can’t, I never want to hear another word about me hanging my clothes on the pull-up bar at home.” 

“Good lord,” Robin mutters, but he still takes off his jacket and tosses it over the fence to Glenn. He studies the fence for a second before taking the jump, pulling himself up and over like Glenn did. He stumbles a little when he lands, but all in all, the dude has decent breaking and entering skills. Glenn makes a note for future reference.

The sound of their dress shoes crunching on the sand is the loudest thing besides the waves. There’s a house above them, but no lights are on inside. It really feels like their own private place. A small wooden dock extends over the water and they sit down at the end, legs hanging over the edge. They’re only a few feet above where the water laps gently at the dock’s supports. This would be a nice place to teach a kid to swim. 

Glenn digs out a couple of joints from inside his suit jacket and hands one to Robin, who takes it without deliberation for once. Some places, the vibes are just better with a smoke. Glenn feels a satisfied pride when he sees Robin dig out the lighter from his pocket. It’s a burnished silver zippo, etched with a badass scorpion. He was just killing time at the pawn shop when he found it, not shopping for a gift, but he knew Robin had to have it as soon as he saw it. All the teasing Robin had given him about “something to help me light your joints for you is a present for me?” hadn’t quite concealed how genuinely touched Robin was by the gesture. Glenn sticks the joint in his mouth and leans in like he’s a noir femme fatale about to make an indecent proposal. Robin’s hand comes up to cup his cheek and protect the flame from the wind as he lights it for Glenn before sitting back and lighting his own. 

Lauren has worked with Glenn in their sessions on building a few safe houses in his mind where he can retreat when his memories start to drag him down. The challenge has always been in making the good memories anywhere near as vivid and real as the bad ones. At first, it had seemed impossible that anything good could be as present as the feeling of biting cold wind against his face, the stench of hot metal, all the raw sensations of the places and times he keeps coming back to like a broken record. But as Lauren always points out, she didn’t go to clown school. She has some therapist tricks up her sleeve. So much of it is about coming back over and over to the touchstone he wants to reinforce, engaging all his senses with details he practices like a difficult riff. 

The first moment he chose wasn’t anything intrinsically memorable at the time, but it’s the safest and happiest he could remember feeling. Just a quiet moment on a sun-warmed picnic blanket with toddler Nick nestled between his parents, exhausted from the excitement of the playground. There was a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, the sound of a distant lawnmower. The sharp smell of ginger from their lunch mingled with the scent of baby shampoo and that sweet buttercream smell that seemed to just come from her skin. He can go there now when he needs to. Most of the time. More often than not, anyway.

Lauren’s been encouraging him to choose another good memory to reinforce, but it’s been too hard to choose. Until right now. This isn’t even a memory yet, but it’s going to be the next memory he makes a safe house out of. He can already tell. 

Robin reaches over and takes Glenn’s hand in his to give it a soft squeeze. “This is nice,” he says quietly. 

Glenn squeezes Robin’s hand back. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Glenn says. He feels tremendously at peace. “I fucking hate Harry Connick Junior.”

They sit there for a solid five minutes, smoking and looking at the water, before Robin finally speaks again. “Please, do go on.”

“This is his beach,” Glenn says smugly. “If he knew I were here, it’d be fucking killing him right now.” 

“Ah.” Robin contemplates this for a minute. “You hate blue-eyed soul singers? You still carry a torch for Jill Goodacre? Because if so, I get it.”

“What? No,” Glenn scoffs. “This goes way beyond that.” 

It takes a good long while for Glenn to fill in all the necessary background on the feud, but there’s about seven different threads he needs to fill in before Robin can possibly understand why trespassing on his mortal enemy’s beach is just too perfect as revenge. Robin breaks in now and then for clarification questions, but mostly just listens. They’ve both finished their joints long before the whole tale is unwound. 

“I see,” Robin finally says. “The beach thing makes sense, then. But angel, I feel like Harry Connick Junior doesn’t live in California. Isn’t he pretty famous for being a New Orleans guy?”

Glenn sighs and covers Robin’s hand with his own comfortingly. “That’s exactly what he wants you to think. I love you, but you can be incredibly naive.” 

Robin laughs. “I suppose I can. Should we harass him at a distance in New Orleans, too? Just to cover all your bases. Maybe enjoy the music and the food, too, make a nice vacation of it. Sounds fun.”

“I’d like that,” Glenn says, a little choked up. “I’d like that so much, baby.” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Damn, you actually always believe me, don’t you? It’s kinda throwing me.”

Robin gives a soft affirmative hum. “You can’t tell me the sky is green. But I think I’m getting a little better at understanding how you see the world.”

“Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t apologize. I’m having a good time.”

Glenn swings his dangling feet above the water. “So you’d really think about coming on part of the tour next year? If you could get the vacation time? I know that’s kind of a long-term question.”

“Of course,” Robin says. “It sounds wonderful. And I don’t mind long-term questions.” He sighs out a deep breath, somewhere between contented and worried. “I have a long-term question for you, too. And it’s fine if it’s not something you’re ready to think about, but I’d like to put it out there before you leave.”

Glenn’s heartrate has been speeding up more and more the longer Robin spends on this preamble. He nearly hurls himself off the dock in a panic. He thought things were going a little too well. There’s no way, right? Not even old heart-eyes would try to move this fast.

“Next year, maybe it could be a shorter tour? Or broken up into smaller legs, with some breaks between? I understand that Christmas is your busy season, but…” Robin trails off, distracted by Glenn’s huge sigh of relief. “What?”

“I thought for a second you were gonna do some kind of… grand gesture or something.”

It takes a second to click, and then Robin jumps like somebody stuck a pin in him. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Oh, I didn’t even— No, just the tour thing. Just asking if you could look into some options. Think about whether you actually have to be gone for that long all at once.”

Glenn says nothing, and his mental gears are clashing as he tries to recalibrate. He’s relieved, defensive, embarrassed, still coming down from the jolt of fear, somehow the slightest bit disappointed, and feeling very in need of restoring his cool.

“And besides,” Robin adds with a playful smirk, “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” 

Glenn rolls his eyes. God, when Robin gets the upper hand for once, he can never resist pushing his luck. “You’re the cow,” Glenn replies, trusting his tone of disdain to sell the nonsensical rebuttal. 

“The other day you said that I’m a giraffe,” Robin says. “Because I’m tall and don't know what my legs are doing, I assume.”

“That’s not why,” Glenn says, exasperated. “Don’t you remember the thing they said on the show we were watching? Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Not really, no.”

He shouldn’t have corrected Robin, this is too many back-to-back tender moments. “It’s the heart,” Glenn mumbles. He says the next part really fast and quiet, like maybe then Robin won’t hear it over the breeze and the waves: “It has the biggest heart of all the land animals. Fun fact.”

There’s no verbal response from Robin, but Glenn can feel a telltale quiver in the hand he’s holding. “Don’t cry,” he warns. “You know I’m no good with people who are crying.”

He can see Robin nod out of the corner of his eye, but the big soft bastard’s probably not going to successfully hold it together for long. He needs to be snapped out of it, like hiccups. 

“Can I see your phone for a second, baby?” Glenn asks.

Robin picks up his discarded suit jacket and fishes his phone out to hand over. His voice is a shade wobbly as he speaks. “Why do you want it?” 

Glenn puts the phone securely on the slats of the dock, out of splash range. “Because I’m gonna do this,” he says, and pushes Robin into the water.

He definitely second-guesses himself as soon as he’s done it. There’s an alarming moment when he remembers that he doesn’t know whether Robin can actually swim. Fortunately it’s moot, because when Robin resurfaces with a gasp, it turns out that the water is only up to his shoulders. The big guy’s disoriented and it takes him a minute to get turned around and find the dock. But once he does, he advances on Glenn like the wrath of God, his wet hair pouring rivulets over his stony face.

Glenn starts to scramble backward, but no, he’s not gonna dish it out if he can’t take it. He settles on making sure his own phone and wallet are safe, dropping them onto the planks a second before Robin grabs his ankles and pulls him off the edge of the dock into the water. It’s fucking cold, and some of the water goes up his nose, but Glenn comes up spluttering and laughing. He grabs onto Robin’s arm to hold himself up, since his feet don’t quite touch the bottom. “I know I earned that, man, you don’t have to say it.”

Robin groans and starts to walk toward the shore. Glenn still has enough dignity in him not to want to be towed like a little boat, so he lets go and leans into a backfloat. The night sky above him is beautiful, Robin was right. Beautiful in an Earth way. 

As usual, Robin won’t go far without Glenn, and there’s the shift of ripples in the water as Robin rejoins him. It’s funny to think that they’re not touching, but he can still feel each movement Robin makes in the water a few inches away. It feels like if he floated here long enough, he would be able to detect the little ripples that Robin’s breathing makes, even the shiver of water molecules accompanying each beat of his heart. 

“I just realized something,” Glenn says. “When I’m over there, we can both touch this ocean at the same time from opposite ends.”

Robin laughs, and the tiny waves of it rock gently against Glenn a half-second later. “That’s only one thing between where you’ll be and where I’ll be. That doesn’t sound like too much.”

“Only one ocean,” Glenn says thoughtfully. As he floats, he pictures the ripples spreading out from them in ever-expanding circles. Each breath, each heartbeat turned into vibrations traveling away from them in the water. How far do those vibrations travel before they don’t exist anymore? Maybe they they never fully disappear, maybe they can make it all the way to the other side of the ocean. He’ll go stand in the water thousands of miles away and some little part of the waves he feels will be echoes from the two of them on this night. It’s a reassuring thought. It helps him feel as though he’ll be able to find his way home again.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Glenn_ **

Even this early in the morning, the LAX departures terminal is chaotic with distracted drivers and passengers hustling between cars. Through some supernatural luck, Robin manages to dodge in and snag them a spot by the curb.  He turns to Glenn. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come in? I can park and double back.”

“Nah, I gotta meet the guys and go over the inventory list, I don’t trust the new company. You’ll be bored and I’ll be distracted, and I don’t want to be wondering if I forgot something for the whole flight.”

“Okay, then. You have your passport?”

“No, I hurled it out the window onto the freeway since the last time you asked me, five minutes ago.” The GC3 has probably spent years on the road if you add it all up. Glenn knows what the fuck he’s doing. 

“Wait, I just thought of one other thing.” Robin says, and starts digging around in the glove compartment. “You know I’m not generally superstitious—“

“What about the streetlight thing?” Glenn interrupts. 

“They burn out when I go under them, Glenn, all the time!” Robin recovers. “As I was  _ saying. _ My grandmother gave me this saint’s medal when I was six and going on my first trip by myself. It’s supposed to protect you on journeys.” 

Robin’s holding a tiny silver oval, not quite the size of a coin. He turns it over in his fingers, a gesture that’s clearly an old habit, and Glenn pictures for a second how much bigger the little medallion would have looked in a six-year-old’s hands.

“I always keep it in the car and take it when I fly. I thought you could take it along. Only if you want.” 

Glenn takes the tiny pendant from Robin’s fingers and examines it. It’s embossed with the figure of a man carrying a child on his shoulders, and has  _ protect us _ stamped on the back. “Patron saint of piggyback rides, huh?”

Robin shrugs. “Too lapsed for that. I just kept the grandmotherly superstitions part, and the part where I panic if I see a priest.”

“Listen, don’t fuck with grandma mojo. They know what’s up. Don’t fuck with priests either, for that matter.” Glenn unhooks his chain necklace and threads it through the small loop on the top of the tiny medal, then puts the chain back together behind his neck. The medal and the guitar pick settle together at the bottom of the chain, a few inches below his collarbone. “Thanks, baby, I’ll take good care of it.”

A blast of a car horn reminds them that this isn’t the best place to linger. The added urgency of takeoff times and security lines brings out LA road rage at its finest. 

“Come here,” Robin says, and pulls Glenn in for a quick, tender kiss. When they part, Glenn grabs his bag from the backseat and prepares to get out. 

“You’re sure you don’t have anything in your pockets? You know Singapore is really strict.”

“Jesus, baby, why would I bring drugs on tour? Tour is where they  _ give _ you drugs.” Another cacophony of horns interrupts them as an SUV tries to cut into the taxi line. “I gotta go, man.”

Robin grabs him to steal another quick kiss. “All right, be safe, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Glenn says with a grin, “now get the fuck out of here.” He slams the car door shut, turns and heads to the terminal. 

He doesn’t even get his boarding pass before some shit is going down with the new transport company, exactly as he fucking expected. There’s no reason why Dominic or Spike can’t keep things moving forward, but everybody always waits around for him. Glenn gets the mess sorted out eventually, then just when he’s ready to kick back in the terminal and let an edible do its magic, Dominic has a bunch of contracts and papers he wants to go over. They haven’t even boarded their first flight yet and Glenn’s already murderously fed up with his bandmates. It’s going to be a long tour. 

Once he’s boarded, he feels better - at least they’re not sitting near each other, and he’s laid out the extra cash to get a seat a notch or two above steerage. He stretches his legs out underneath the seat in front of him, hunkers down in his jacket and tries to get into the right semi-conscious, cattle-like mindset to survive the long flight ahead. His mind plays back over images of the hectic morning, and he has to force himself to stop grinding his teeth about the equipment hassles. Robin, though - who knew that guy had a good-luck charm this whole time? Glenn smiles and touches the slight bump under his shirt where the medallion and the guitar pick rest together. Then the rest of his brain catches up, and he nearly jumps out of his seat. 

What was he thinking? Not in a rhetorical way: he literally can’t remember his thought process when he put the medal on the chain. It seemed like the obvious thing to do, even though he’s never considered hanging another item beside the pick before. He touches the objects again anxiously through the fabric of his shirt. The medal rests lightly on the guitar pick where they touch. Whether or not he thought about it earlier, he sure as hell needs to think about it now. 

Glenn’s a firm believer in trusting your gut. He knows by now how to check in on the stuff that doesn’t necessarily make sense in words, and occasionally he even remembers to do it. Years of on and off therapy haven’t been completely wasted, apparently. He settles back into his seat, closes his eyes, and tries to tune out the sounds of the last few stragglers boarding. He doesn’t focus on anything specific, just lets his breathing slow down and waits. The ache is first (and last, and always), but there’s a calm surrounding it as well, like icy cold water flowing over a rock on a riverbed. He couldn’t explain exactly how he knows, but he knows it’s okay. The part of him that’s made up of pieces of the people he loves and who love him... that part is saying it’s okay. 

“Thank you,” he says under his breath, and digs out his phone. Robin picks up immediately, probably because he’s the only human being Glenn knows who intentionally leaves the ringer on. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” that familiar voice says. “Did you forget something?”

“I did not, fuck you very much for asking,” Glenn replies. “Hey, can I tell you something, though?”

“Of course.”

‘I love you.” 

There’s a pause.

‘I love you, too,” Robin replies hoarsely. “You doing okay?”

“Totally good,’ Glenn says quietly. “I gotta hang up in a second, but, y’know.” 

“Yeah,” Robin says, “I know. Call me when you land, okay? No excuses.”

‘I know. I will. Love you.”

“Love you,” Robin says. “Talk to you soon.” Glenn hangs up, studies the phone for a second, then turns it to airplane mode and puts it away. Normally, he’d be blasting music in his headphones already, but he feels like doing something different for a change. 


	19. Chapter 19

_**Nick** _

If Nick had left five minutes earlier, he’d have been out of the apartment building before Robin got home from work. He’d have gotten back well before the time of night when Robin starts to worry about where he is, and he wouldn’t have had to answer any questions. But he timed it wrong, and Robin appeared silently in the hallway just as Nick was closing the front door. The dude walks way too quietly for somebody that big, he needs a fucking bell or something before Nick becomes the world’s youngest heart attack survivor. So now here they both are, and Nick’s startled and not sure what to say when Robin cheerfully asks where he’s headed.

Lie, pick a fight… Nick runs down his options quickly and then makes a mental note to kick his own brain’s ass for being such a reflexive dipshit. It wouldn’t exactly be fair to bully Glenn into doing right by Robin in this particular area and then punk out when it’s his own turn. 

“I’m going out to Orchard Hill,” Nick says, adjusting the strap of his backpack for an excuse to avoid eye contact. An impulsive thought hits him, and he says it out loud before he has too much time to second-guess himself. “You can come, if you want.”

The trick to reading Robin is watching his body language, and as soon as Nick makes the offer, Robin nods and puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket. So he gets it, but he’s gonna be cool. Or at least, as cool as Robin can manage. “I’ve never been out there with your dad,” Robin finally says. “But if it’s okay with you, then please, yeah. I’d like to come. Thank you.” 

It’s not like Robin couldn’t drive and get them to the cemetery faster, but taking the bus has been a part of this ritual since the beginning. Nick just follows the steps that he’s known since as far back as he can remember, with Robin tagging along quietly. He was ten years old the first time he did this trip unaccompanied, the result of an overlap between Glenn’s band commitments and Nick being able to convince Glenn that navigating the public transit system by himself was a useful skill. These days he goes without Glenn maybe half the time, every other month or two. The bus is a surprisingly good place to get some time alone with your thoughts. There’s an upper limit where all the people and noise and smells and distractions merge into one ignorable entity. Nick can just put his headphones on and look out the window and end up more relaxed and centered than he’s ever felt in one of those interminable school yoga lessons. He’s not giving that up just because Robin’s here.

Nick hits the button for their stop once they’re close enough, and they’re the only ones who get off the bus. They walk the few blocks through the neighborhood, passing by the small houses, the hair salon, the church that never changes the message on its signboard. When he was really little, Nick had thought that a certain brick house on the corner was where they’d all lived together. He must have mixed up some story Glenn was telling him with the place they were walking by, it’d been nowhere near here. But even though he knows there’s no actual connection, he always feels a little better when he crosses onto that block and can see that it’s still owned by the same family, an older couple who plant marigolds in the big container on the front porch every spring.

Within a few blocks, they’re through the gate and into the cemetery itself. Nick turns when he hears Robin’s feet on the gravel path slow and stop behind him. “Do you want me to come with you the rest of the way, or wait?” Robin asks.

Nick considers this briefly, then points at a gazebo that’s just off the path on the other side, and Robin nods. He’s still there twenty minutes later, when Nick’s ready to go, chilling and watching the wind in the trees or something. Not even on his phone. The man might be a psychopath. Nick has a sudden malicious instinct to sneak off in the other direction and see how long it’ll be before Robin starts to wonder what’s taking so long, but he lets the urge pass and just walks over. Robin glances up. He seems to be debating what to say next, but eventually settles on: “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

With a little exploratory wandering, they end up at a family-owned bakery. It’s the kind of place that’s probably been doing wedding cakes for the neighborhood for forever, but definitely keeps the doors open through selling pan dulce basics. Nick thinks of Robin and Glenn as opposites in most ways, but they both share a very important trait: if Nick points to a selection of something tasty and says “I think we should get one of every flavor,” they’ll both immediately agree. That’s how Nick and Robin end up waiting at the bus stop with a bag full of melt-in-your mouth conchas, each trying not to get crumbs all over themselves as they eat. One of the cars that passes by as they wait is decked out with faux reindeer antlers and a red nose on the grill, and they both snort derisively.

“I’m still trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas,” Robin says pensively. “Can you help me narrow it down? Or I can pay for something you pick out yourself, if that’s not too impersonal. You Close boys are hard to shop for.”

Nick’s a bit surprised by this line of inquiry, but he likes the idea. Normally he just yells to Glenn that he’s getting his allowance while he’s digging however much cash he needs out of Glenn’s wallet. “I have a binder I’ve had my eye on, I need a new one anyway. It’s like fifty bucks.”

“For a binder?” Robin asks, appalled. “I have binders in my office, Nick, just help yourself.” 

Nick just waits for the other shoe to drop. A few more cars go by. Robin suddenly gasps. There it is. 

“Oh,” Robin says awkwardly. “Your… gender-affirming underthings. Of course.” He rocks forward and back on his heels for a second, thinking. “Are you sure? Not something fun?”

“It is fun,” Nick says. “It’s holographic.” It only takes him a second to pull the website up on his phone and hand it to Robin, who inspects the screen at arm’s length. 

“Oh, these are neat,” Robin says. “Which one were you looking at?”

“Um. It’s called Sparkle Explosion.” Of course, a car with a rattling muffler goes by right as he finishes the sentence.

“It’s called what?” Robin asks absently, scrolling through the site with a curious expression. 

Nick clears his throat and bites off the words sharply. “Sparkle. Explosion.” 

Robin glances over to check if Nick’s messing with him, but apparently the flush climbing up Nick’s cheeks is proof enough. He hands the phone back. “Okay. Remind me to give you my credit card when we get home. Pick out a few while you’re at it. Merry Christmas.” 

“Thanks,” Nick mumbles. He sticks his phone back in his pocket, but isn’t sure what to do with his hands, or with his face for that matter. Robin’s got the spirit, there’s no tension on that front, but Nick vows to go the rest of his life without ever talking about underwear with his dad’s boyfriend again. 

He digs into the paper bag and hands another concha to Robin, as much to change the subject as anything. “We should bring some back for Glenn next time,” Nick says. “I don’t know why we haven’t gone there before, but these are definitely up to his standards. He’ll be psyched.”

“Good idea,” Robin says. “Next time, for sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the homies who shared their time and emotional labor to read and give feedback so we can have trans Nick in the Wrightiverse.


	20. Chapter 20

***  
Nick reads. A commission from the amazing Gale - nojaloart.tumblr.com   
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought we wouldn’t have any more M-rated chapters until Glenn got back from tour, you underestimated the power of being dumb and horny. Mature content in this chapter.

**_Robin_ **

Robin is perched on an uncomfortable damask couch, trying to feign interest in the conversation that Penny’s having with some power broker whose name and role he’s already forgotten. It’s too soon to go hit up the open bar again, too early for dinner. This is the part where he pays his dues, and every time he forgets how excruciatingly tedious it is. If Glenn were here, he’d already have smoked out the string quartet and cornered the police commissioner about Tupac’s death.

Just as he’s biting back another yawn, Robin feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He’d left it on in case Nick needed something, but when he checks the screen, it’s a video call from Glenn.

“This is— sorry— my, uh, friend is calling. Could be an emergency. Please excuse me.” Robin makes his way to the door quickly and steps into the hallway before answering. An image of Glenn pops up on his screen, clearly calling from someone’s laptop in a hotel room. It’s broad daylight wherever he is, but he’s dressed for bed.

“Guess who’s in Phuket!” Glenn crows.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Robin says happily. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, just was thinking of you and figured I’d call.” Glenn leans in toward his webcam, suddenly very interested. “Is that a tux?” 

“Yeah, I’m at a thing for Penny, it’s black tie. The country club thing.”

“Oh, I _see_ ,” Glenn laughs. “I’m speaking to Robin Wright, competent hetero. Sorry, man, could you go check if my boyfriend’s around? He’ll be the tall guy looking at the cognac like he wants to elope with it.”

“It’s a bad one,” Robin says, ignoring Glenn. “Election year, Penny’s gotta woo some real assholes. If my department had a tenth of the budget that—“ he cuts himself off. “Sorry, just venting. I should get back.” 

“What, you got a cab waiting or something? What’s the hurry?” Glenn leans back with a very familiar grin as his hand drifts to his waistband. Robin glances toward the ballroom just down the hallway, panics, and hangs up.

Another call from Glenn starts coming in almost immediately, this time without video. Robin hurries further down the hall as he answers and presses the phone to his ear to keep the mischievous voice contained. 

“If you hang up again, I’m not calling back,” Glenn warns him. 

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispers. “I just— you were on video, anyone who walked into the hall could have seen you. Or heard you.”

“They can’t hear me now, right? I’m not on speaker or anything?” 

“No,” Robin replies cautiously. 

“Good. I’m still thinking about how good you look. You clean up nice, old man. Giving me classic Hollywood vibes, very Cary Grant. Very sexy.” 

Robin can feel that he’s blushing a little, but he’s smiling, too. It’s nice to be shamelessly objectified, when it’s from the right person. “Thanks, I try.” He can never stand still while he’s talking on the phone, and he’s paced to the other end of the building now. This wing isn’t in use for the event, and the hall lights have been turned down low so that guests don’t wander in here. Like he’s doing. Robin leans against the wall. “I miss you. I wish you were here.” 

“Mmm, so do I.” Glenn’s got a teasing lilt in his voice. “Tell me what you’d do. If I was there with you right now.” 

“Glenn…” Robin groans. “I can’t. I’m supposed to be somewhere.”

“Okay, then hang up,” Glenn says. There’s a rustling from the other end of the phone and a soft, indrawn breath. “I’m gonna be thinking about you in that tux for the next five minutes either way.” 

“A tight five, huh? You really do like this look.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Glenn says with a low chuckle. His breath catches a bit, and Robin bites his lip as he pictures just what might be prompting that. “Come on, baby, your favorite show is on. You don’t want to miss this.”

Robin rubs his hand across his mouth anxiously, tries to think. But he doesn’t hang up. “You son of a bitch,” he mutters. “Give me a second.”

He looks around and spots a door, tries the handle and finds it unlocked. He glances down the hall once more to make sure he’s unobserved, then slips inside. In the mansion’s former life, this was a palatial bathroom, with a claw-foot tub still lurking in the corner. The current owners seem to use it as storage for amenities: towels and toiletries for the bathroom attendant, spare umbrellas, a shoe-polishing kit left over from the Great War. But most importantly, nobody’s in here and he can lock the door behind him. Enough light comes from the outdoors to see by, and he leaves the room light off so it doesn’t shine under the door and attract attention. Robin leans back against the locked door and tips his head back, eyes closed. He sighs deeply, and hears Glenn chuckle on the phone. 

“So,” Glenn says.

“So.”

“So, if I were there with you…”

“You’d already be on your knees,” Robin says quietly. 

“Absolutely,” Glenn replies, a hungry edge to his tone. “You can’t get enough of this mouth, can you?”

“Never.” Robin breathes. His legs are suddenly weak, and he slides down the door behind him until he’s sitting on the tiled floor. “When you look up at me…”

“Mmm, yeah.” Glenn’s quiet for a minute, just the sound of his breathing on the line. Robin’s imagination is running wild. “You’re taking care of yourself, right?” Glenn asks suddenly.

“Not yet,” Robin confesses. “Just listening. I don’t have anything for, you know...” 

“I thought you were always prepared. What happened to my overgrown boy scout?” 

Robin makes a protesting noise. “You’re nine thousand miles away. I’m spending the evening with a bunch of rich assholes and my ex-wife. I did not foresee this being an issue tonight.”

“Then you’d better get creative,” Glenn says, in a tone that doesn’t permit argument.

Robin glances around and spots a fancy floral lotion that’s probably meant for the ladies’ restroom. It’ll have to do. He moves his clothes quickly out of the way, gets his palm slick, and wraps his hand around himself with a shuddering gasp. “God. Okay.” 

“That’s better,” he hears Glenn say, satisfied. 

“Wish it was you,” Robin replies as he starts to stroke. “Wish it was your hand. Your mouth. Your body.”

“Anything you want,” Glenn says. “I love it when you use me.” 

“I would,” Robin says, a slight catch in his voice. “I’d throw you against the wall. Pin you so you can’t escape. Cover your mouth with my hand so they can’t hear the noises you’re making.”

Glenn whimpers with pure want, and Robin’s eyelids flutter in pleasure as his mental image flickers between the two scenes; the fantasy version of what he’d do if he had Glenn here, what Glenn’s really doing in some hotel room on the other side of the world. He bites back a groan.

“I get pretty loud when I’m with you,” Glenn says hoarsely. “I don’t know if a hand would be enough.” 

“I think I could shut you up,” Robin murmurs. Then he freezes at the sound of a step in the hall.

“Yeah?” Glenn asks. When he doesn’t get a response, he catches on immediately. “Somebody’s there?”

Robin makes a quiet affirmative noise, still frozen. He’s lost track of where the footsteps went.

“Don’t stop,” Glenn says, his voice low. “Just don’t get caught.” When he doesn’t hear a response from Robin, his voice gets more intense. “I said not to stop.” 

Robin bites his lip and starts to move his hand again. He should have realized sooner that Glenn was in a dominant mood, but with no body language to read… The quietest indrawn hiss of breath escapes as his hand slides along his sensitive skin, but Glenn hears it anyway and hums in satisfaction. 

“Better. Don’t stop unless I tell you. But watch yourself,” Glenn warns with a smirk in his voice. “Wouldn’t want somebody to come in and catch you like this.”

The thought sends a jolt through Robin. Glenn loves a little danger in the mix. They both do, if he’s being honest. That bare hint of exhibitionism makes him shudder, but it’s a relief when he hears the footsteps move away down the hall. A moan finally escapes as he lets his guard back down.

“All clear?” Glenn asks. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Maybe I’d better take over,” Glenn purrs in his ear. “Get you on your hands and knees, tear those fancy clothes apart.” 

A ragged gasp escapes Robin. 

“You’d let me, right there on the floor?” Glenn asks. His voice is heavy with arousal. “If I told you to?” 

“Anytime,” Robin whispers as the heat rises in him. “Anywhere.”

“Right answer,” Glenn murmurs between gasps. “Gonna give you what you deserve.”

It turns out that what Glenn feels he deserves right now is having a stream of vivid, amazingly filthy suggestions murmured into his ear. Robin’s whole world is reduced to the sound of that voice. It’s husky with desire, describing in detail everything that Glenn’s irresistibly one-track mind can come up with. Within minutes, Glenn has him teased to a fever pitch. Robin inhales hard, his eyes shut in concentration. “Can I—“ 

“Yeah,” Glenn murmurs. “For me.”

The permission is all he needs. Waves of pleasure hit him hard, but he manages not to drop the phone entirely. He knows Glenn’s listening to every single sound, and the knowledge makes the release all the sweeter. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Glenn tells him softly. There’s a long delicious moment where Robin’s just listening to Glenn’s tight breaths, and then he pulls himself out of the reverie. 

“You know I want you,” Robin says to him. “Don’t hold back.”

There’s a shuddering breath and a curse on the other end of the line and Robin closes his eyes again in satisfaction. He wishes he could see it in person, but he knows at this point how that beautiful face tenses, how that perfect body arches. This is the next best thing, and it’s still pretty damn good. 

After a long, quiet moment, Glenn finally speaks again. “Mmm, that hit the spot,” he says. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Robin replies softly. “Feeling pretty good on this end, too.” 

“I’m glad,” Glenn says, and over the line, Robin catches the sound of that particular hum that Glenn makes when he’s satisfied and relaxed.

A wave of sadness hits Robin suddenly. It happens sometimes, a fleeting melancholy as his system rebounds from the full-body high. Normally, he’d just wrap himself around Glenn tighter until it passed. “Shit. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, baby,” Glenn murmurs. ”I really am trying to call when I get the chance. It’s been nonstop.” 

“I know, you’re doing your best. I appreciate it. But it’s still hard.”

“Really?” Glenn says, deadpan. “That’s impressive, especially for a man your age.” Robin covers his mouth a split second too late to muffle the sound of his own amusement. Glenn can always make him laugh. And he somehow always knows when a dumb joke is what’s needed to pull Robin out of a self-pity spiral. 

“No, I get it.” Glenn says. “It sucks. Feels like I’ve been gone way too long already.” 

Robin stands up, tucking the phone awkwardly between his ear and his shoulder so he can make himself decent again. “Is work going okay? The guys giving you some space?”

Glenn grunts noncommittally. “It’s fine.” 

“That bad?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Glenn says, which isn’t really an answer, but is probably as good as he’s going to give. Robin hears him sigh before he changes the subject. “You and Nick doing okay?”

“Uh, not too bad.” Robin’s fibbing, but what can he even say at this point? _Well, my love, you raised a teenager who’s used to more independence than most adults. He responds to authority about as well as you do. And neither he nor I have any idea how much authority I’m even supposed to have. If he actually goes to school in the morning and comes home before I go to bed, I count it as a win._ “I think he’s stressed about finals. He’s messaging with Connor a lot. They just hang out while they do homework, as far as I can tell.” 

“Nerds. I love it.” Glenn sighs. “You should probably go help One Cent kick some ass out there.”

Robin groans. “I’ve been gone way too long. She’s going to fully murder me. But maybe she’ll wait until after dessert.”

“Just play it cool, man,” Glenn says skeptically. “She’s not psychic.” 

Robin finishes washing his hands and grabs a towel from the storage shelf to dry them. He finds himself twisting the wedding ring he’s put on for the evening. He’s not used to it anymore, but it helps sell the con. Right now, it’s a physical reminder of the distance between the role he’s playing tonight and the one he’d much prefer.

“Penny could read me like a book from day one,” Robin says regretfully. “After this long? Psychic doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“Do your best,” Glenn says reassuringly. “And if all else fails, I’ll fight her for you when I get back.” 

“Thanks, angel. I don’t want to hang up, but—“

“Go get ‘em,” Glenn says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

“You enjoy the rest of your… day?”

“Yeah, day. I’m calling you from the future, it’s tomorrow here. Or it’s yesterday there.”

“I never understand time travel stuff.”

“Me neither,” Glenn says. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Robin replies, and finally hangs up. He takes a deep breath, puts his phone back in his pocket, and checks himself over in the mirror. Passable. 

When he catches up to Penny, she’s still too poised and in character to give him a hard time out loud. “Just in time for dinner, honey. How’s your friend?” Penny asks brightly as he approaches. 

“Fine, thanks.” Robin replies, matching her pleasant and casual tone. “Turned out to be nothing to worry about.”

Penny wraps an arm around his waist and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “I know that look, Mr. Wright. I’m going to kill Glenn,” she says under her breath, keeping a smile pinned to her face as they walk together into the dining room. “I swear you had more self-restraint as a teenager.” 

“Just let him have this one, PJ,” Robin says quietly. “Our whole deal isn’t easy for him.”

“You might be right,” she says. He pulls her chair out and makes sure she’s arranged comfortably before he sits down next to her. The hum of settling in is going to die down soon and they’ll have to talk to the people around them, but Penny isn’t quite finished. “Don’t let it happen again, though. Please.”

Robin takes her hand in his for the gentlest of squeezes, running his thumb over her wedding ring. “Treasured wife. Beloved. You know me. You know I don’t have any say in the matter.” 

Penny shoots him a brief glare that quickly melts into a smile. She’s not angry, after all, just amused. But something tells Robin that Penny may pick a different partner in crime for the next time she runs this grift. All in all, he thinks, that’s probably for the best. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s an encounter with a cop in this chapter but nothing bad happens.

**_Nick_ **

Nick’s still got more than a year before he can get a learner’s permit, and he’s already preparing his argument for why Connor should be the one to teach him to drive. Robin drives like a grandma, and Glenn may or may not actually have a valid license of his own at this point. In the meantime, Nick is semi-dependent on other people to get him where he wants to go, because the buses aren’t always reliable and even though it’s a cliche, there are good reasons nobody walks in LA. 

Normally, Robin’s up for doing drop-offs and pick-ups on call, but today he said he’d like to stick around in the park for as long as Nick wanted to be there. Nick didn’t have the heart to refuse him. The dude’s getting detectably more moody every week Glenn’s been gone. The fresh air will do him good. 

Once they arrive, Nick quickly forgets that Robin is around at all. The usual crowd is out today, including his skate park friends; he only ever sees them here, but he's happy to see them when he does. Nick works up a sweat pretty fast. He’s practicing a new stunt, something he wants to perfect before Glenn gets back. It’s going better, he’s almost got it down consistently. But it’s not enough for him to be able to do it once. Glenn taught him that: whether it’s a drum fill or a skate trick, you can’t say you can do it just because you pulled it off once. You gotta be able to deliver every time.

After an hour or so, Nick can tell he’s fucking up because his body’s too wiped out to follow orders. He’s pushed through that fatigue before and taken some gnarly spills. Break time. A quick scan of the green space surrounding the skate ramps confirms that Robin’s exactly where he left him, sitting on a park bench with his reading glasses and his library book. 

Nick casually strolls behind the groundskeepers’ shed and digs out the spliff he’d tucked away before they left the house. It’s a little messed up from being in his pocket this whole time, but it burns fine once he’s got it lit. He leans back against the wall of the shed and watches the smoke curl and billow. The tobacco hits with a nice head rush almost instantly, and the rest won’t be far behind. Not his preferred method, but less of a pain in the ass to ditch than his vape pen if he’s gotta dispose of evidence quickly. Within two minutes, the spliff will be smoked down and in the trash: within ten, he’ll be free of any lingering smoke and safe to interact with nosy adults. Safe to interact with Robin, mainly, who is exactly the kind of guy that would usually get called a narc around their house if Glenn weren’t so whipped. 

Nick’s savoring another lungful when somebody lays a heavy hand on his shoulder from behind. He chokes and twists free of the hold. When he’s turned around, his brain says _cop_ even though the man isn’t wearing a uniform. Then he recognizes why: it’s Phil, whose daughter is in Nick’s grade and who actually is a cop. 

Fuck. Nick isn’t waiting around to find out how off-duty Phil is feeling today. Phil takes another step toward him, a frown on his face and his hand outstretched. “Son, hold up.” 

Nick fakes right, jukes left and takes off at a sprint. He hears an angry shout from behind him. His skater friends would help him somehow, but he can’t spot them right now. He glances back over his shoulder as he runs and sees Phil advancing like a Terminator with a swift and steady walk. Apparently he wants to see this through. That sucks. 

Nick jumps over a low concrete wall onto a ramp, half-runs and half-slides to the bottom, and dodges out into the regular part of the park again. On some level he knows that he’s overreacting, but the main part of his brain is saying _danger danger danger._ And maybe Phil’s not some orc with a sword or a manticore or something, but if it makes his legs pump faster, then Nick’s not gonna try to convince them otherwise.

His board is awkward to run with, and the grip tape scrapes his arm as it slips out of his grasp and onto the grass. His feet almost slide out from under him as he tries to turn back and stop at the same time. If he goes back for the board, he’s getting closer to Phil, but he’s also running out of ideas. If he does outrun Phil and get out of the park, then what? He’s going to have to come back at some point. Robin’s probably gonna notice if Nick disappears for four hours to lay low across the street. 

Robin. That’s an idea. Nick’s feet are carrying him toward the bench at top speed before he’s even really finished the thought. Robin looks up with mild concern as he approaches, first at Nick and then over Nick’s shoulder at Phil. 

In the few seconds before he skids to a halt at Robin’s feet, Nick completely fails to come up with any smooth-talking explanation for what’s going on. He just crashes to a halt and stands there gulping in air. Robin frowns, glances down at the contraband that’s still in Nick’s hand, then back up at the oncoming Phil. He sets his book aside and quickly plucks the spliff from Nick’s fingers, then leans back casually, the evidence concealed between his hand and the top of the seat. Nick turns around just as Phil finishes striding up to them, planting his feet and folding his arms. Nick resists the urge to take a step back.

“Are you in charge of this kid?” Phil snaps at Robin. 

“What’s the problem?”

Phil narrows his eyes and pushes past Nick. He clamps a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he does, and Nick winces. “I asked you,” Phil says sternly. “Whether you’re in charge of this kid?”

“And I asked you,” Robin replies calmly, “what the problem is.”

“The problem is, this kid was smoking weed in a public area,” Phil says. “I’ve seen him do it before, here and at school. Somebody needs to get him under control.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Robin simply says. “Thanks.” He reaches for his book again.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Phil says. “This kid needs some consequences. He’s breaking the law, you know.”

Robin just takes off his glasses and sets them on top of his book. “Nick, are you breaking the law right now?”

“Uh… no?” 

Nick’s trying not to look back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match, but he has no idea what’s going to happen. If it were his dad instead of Robin, there’d be real good odds that Glenn would be ready to scrap, and 100% chance that Phil would have been told to go fuck himself already. Robin hasn’t even stood up yet.

Robin shrugs. “He says he isn’t.”

Phil pushes Nick forward roughly, and Nick sees Robin’s eyes narrow. “I can smell it on him,” Phil insists. “You’re telling me you don’t smell that?” 

Robin takes in a breath as though testing the air for the scent, nods. “That’s mine.” He turns his hand to casually reveal the spliff to Phil’s startled gaze.

“So you’re going to lie to cover for him?” Phil growls at Robin. “No wonder he’s such a little shit.”

Phil’s been standing over Robin for this whole conversation, spitting words down at him. Now Robin finally stands up, slowly, ending up eye to eye with Phil and uncomfortably close. Phil’s probably not used to this; he’s more the type who looms. He’s certainly not looming over Robin very successfully at the moment, although he’s not backing down either. 

“Grab your board, kiddo,” Robin says quietly. He doesn’t take his eyes off Phil as he speaks. Nick scrambles over to where he dropped his board, feeling better with every additional yard he puts between them. When he turns back, Robin’s produced a metal lighter from somewhere and is taking a hit right in front of Phil, his hands cupped to shield it from the breeze. Nick just stands frozen with confusion, watching as Robin exhales the smoke into Phil’s stony face. Robin says a couple low sentences to Phil that Nick can’t catch.

Nick snaps out of it and jogs back to the two men, in time to catch them shaking hands tensely. Robin gives Phil a humorless smile as he lets go of his hand. “Great to meet you, Phil. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I’m usually around.” 

Phil nods curtly and strides away, projecting the air of somebody who definitely could stay if he wanted to, but has someplace else to be. Robin and Nick watch him silently together until he’s a safe distance away. 

“I’m good to get out of here,” Nick offers. “If you are, I mean.” 

Robin snaps out of his reverie and turns toward the parking lot. Nick glances back at the bench, grabs the book and the glasses with his free hand, and jogs to catch up with Robin’s long strides.

Once they’ve gotten into the car, Robin just sits there for a minute, rubbing his face. Nick braces for the lecture and prepares to tune out. Instead, Robin examines the rollup, which is mostly burned down but still smoldering. He puts it to his lips and inhales deep, rolling down the window before aiming the exhaled smoke outside the car. “Nick, where did this thing come from?”

Nick shrugs noncommittally. “Dunno.”

Robin’s taken another drag, but this time he stubs the spliff out and drops it into the car’s ashtray, which he snaps shut. “Well, tell _Dunno_ that you’re not their customer anymore, because that was about 90% tobacco.” 

Nick takes a minute to adjust to the turn the conversation’s taken. “So you’re not mad about the weed?” 

“I’m not a fan, Nick, but I promised your dad that I’d stay out of it.” Robin suddenly turns to look at Nick. “No cigarettes though, okay? Please, promise me.” 

Nick nods, and when that doesn’t seem to satisfy Robin, he adds, “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Robin seems to suddenly deflate, slumping forward with his arms on the steering wheel. “Who _was_ that guy?”

“That was Phil,” Nick says. “Georgia’s dad? We hate him.”

“Jesus,” Robin says. “Poor Georgia.” He buries his face in his arms. “Fucking Phil. That was scary.”

Nick sticks his hand out and pats Robin awkwardly on the shoulder a couple of times. The big dude’s tense as all hell, and it’s kinda Nick’s fault, but also, he didn’t make Robin say whatever he said to Phil. Or blow smoke in his face, either.

“Hey,” Nick says abruptly. “Why did you have a lighter? You don’t smoke.”

“Because your dad always forgets his,” Robin mumbles into his arms.

“You remember that when he’s not even in the country, but you can’t remember your own glasses?”

Robin sits up suddenly. “God dammit, not again.”

“I got them, it’s cool,” Nick says. “And your book.”

“Thanks.” Robin finally starts the car and begins to drive home. They ride in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “So can you lay low, or should I drop you at a friend’s house? Because I’ve got about twenty minutes before the nicotine withdrawal hits, and it won’t be pretty.”

“I can chill,” Nick says. “We’re still on for dinner, though?”

“Of course.”

Another few minutes of quiet driving, and this time it’s Nick who breaks the silence, because he’s getting anxious waiting for the axe to fall: “So are you gonna ground me or...”

”If you were Connor, I would,” Robin says. He seems like he’s going to add something, then stops himself. “No. Just try to be smart about this stuff, Nick. Not everybody can go through life the way your dad does and get away with it all the time. Not even him.” 

His expression softens, like it always does when he’s talking about Glenn, but it doesn’t make Nick want to roll his eyes quite as badly as usual. Still, he can tell Robin’s gonna think himself into a sad place if Nick doesn’t stop him. “Dad’s gonna go nuts when he finds out you dunked on Phil.”

“Nick,” Robin says in a warning tone. “I should have handled that better, you know that, right?” Nick nods, although as far as he’s concerned, this worked out pretty much optimally. Robin sighs. “But sure, if you have to tell him, go ahead.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick says, pulling out his phone and starting to text. “I definitely do.” He pauses in his typing for a second, not looking up as he adds, “Thanks for having my back.”

Robin looks over at Nick, then back at the road when Nick doesn’t meet his eyes. From the corner of his eye, Nick can see him relax and nod. “Count on it, kiddo.”


	23. Chapter 23

Robin’s shoes crunch on the bright white gravel as he gets out of his car. Like everything else he’s noticed about Del Close’s place so far, the driveway is spotlessly tidy and probably cost more than his parents’ house. He’s been on edge ever since he had to wait at the security gate to this neighborhood while the guard checked his ID against a list. Nick’s grandmother had picked him up while Robin was at work yesterday, which means Robin’s had all night and day to try to come up with a plan for when he finally meets her. He still hasn’t come up with anything, so he’s just going to have to fall back on the advice Penny gave: _be on time, be polite, and don’t ask any questions you don’t already know the answer to._ He knocks on the door and waits, sticking his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket to keep from fidgeting.

Robin halfway expects to see a butler, but Glenn’s mother answers the door herself. He’d recognize her anywhere, the resemblance to Glenn is so striking. Adele Close has Glenn’s graceful bone structure, the innate self-confidence that draws the eye. Like Glenn, she looks younger than her actual age, and has a presence bigger than her actual size. She’s even got the same sleek dark hair as Glenn, although hers is coiffed into a crisp bob, not a single hair out of place. Robin’s stomach does a flip as he realizes that, through genetic luck or hairdresser’s assistance, she has exactly the face-framing strands of gray that he’s always pictured for Glenn. She’s wearing an impeccably tailored linen shift dress without a single wrinkle, and shoes that look so simple that they must be devastatingly expensive. 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up Nick?”

Del gives him a warm smile. “Nick’s just in the powder room, he’ll be right out. Please, come in and sit down for a moment.”

Del has her son’s powers of persuasion, and Robin’s feet are carrying him inside the house before his brain has even finished realizing that he has no idea whether Glenn has said anything about him to Del. He immediately feels underdressed for the classical foyer, and the sitting room where Del leads him is bigger than his first apartment. Robin would like very much to turn on his heel and walk away briskly, but leaving Nick high and dry at his grandmother’s house isn’t likely to do much for their tenuous rapport. 

Once he’s seated opposite Del, he has absolutely no idea what to say. The whole formal setting reminds Robin of when his mother would have the parish priest over for Sunday dinner every few months and they’d open up the front room that was kept only for those occasions. On some deep spiritual level, he’s thirteen years old again and trying not to accidentally think of sins, in case the priest can read minds. In this case, though, there’s a little intrusive and chaotic part of his mind that urgently wants to remind him of all the sins he’s committed with this woman’s son, and it’s flustering him even worse than he already is.

“So this is the famous Mr. Wright,” Del says. There’s a very familiar playful glint in her eyes. “Nicky told me all about you last night. I’m so glad we finally have the chance to connect. Glenn can be so stingy about introducing me to people.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Close,” Robin says automatically. “I’m sorry it took this long.” 

He’s still stalling. Glenn has talked about his mother maybe a dozen times, never particularly positively but never in much detail, either. At the moment, Robin can’t even remember whether Glenn’s said anything about being out to his mother, let alone in a relationship. He’s a grown man, it must have come up by this point, but Glenn can be so guarded about his personal life, even with the people closest to him... 

“Oh, Robin, you can’t imagine my relief when Nicky told me that Glenn was finally letting somebody into his life again,” Del says, cutting off Robin’s mental spiral. “I know, it’s silly, but mothers never stop worrying about these things.” 

“Nick brought it up?”

“Well, all Glenn told me before he went on tour this year was that Nick wouldn’t be staying with me, because a neighbor was going to look after him.” Del clicks her tongue reproachfully. “That sounds like the sort of arrangement you’d make for a houseplant, doesn’t it? I don’t like to pry, but I had to know a little bit more than _that._ Fourteen is still too young to be by yourself all the time.” She gives a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m a worrier. I worry.” 

Robin finds himself nodding along. 

“And then, after all my fretting, it turns out that it’s all good news,” Del says happily. “Though I’ll admit, you’re not at all what I expected.”

Robin clears his throat delicately. “How so?”

“Nothing bad,” Del laughs. “Only that from what I’ve gathered, you don’t seem like his usual type. Much closer to what I’d choose for him, actually, than what he usually goes after.”

“Really?” 

Del gives Robin a _you know how it is_ sort of smile. “My son doesn’t always choose the easiest path for himself.” She rests her hand lightly on Robin’s. “He’s long overdue to have someone in his life who’ll be… oh, I don’t know how to put it exactly. Someone nice. Someone who will look after him, be good to him.”

“Oh.” Robin blinks. “I suppose I’m… doing my best.”

Del hesitates for a second, then glances up at him with a touch of hopefulness in her expression. “I’d like it if we got the chance to know each other. Family is important.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Robin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’d been braced for Del icing him out, Del judging him, Del making little cutting remarks that he’d have to decide whether to acknowledge. A supportive, welcoming Del? Robin is fully off-balance. Even Penny’s family didn’t warm up to him this fast. It’s hard to reconcile this petite, kind woman with the image he’s formed from the scraps Glenn’s given him, but… it wouldn’t be the first time he’s concluded that he and Glenn see the world in very different ways.

“Thank you,” Robin says again, this time genuinely intending the words instead of just saying them automatically. “That actually means a lot.”

A clatter from the foyer causes them both to look up as Nick descends the stairs. For a little guy, he can be impressively loud. Del turns back toward Robin with urgency in her eyes. “Robin, I know I’m being very pushy, but could we get together for lunch sometime? Nicky doesn’t have too many adults in his life, and we shouldn’t be strangers to each other.” 

“Of course.”

There’s a small square enamel box on the table next to them, and Del opens it to retrieve an actual calling card to give Robin. He turns the heavy paper over in his fingers admiringly. No fax, no position title or company. Just her name and phone number, embossed in elegant script. It’s the sort of thing that turns up in regency romances, but he’s never seen one in real life.

“I’m a little old-fashioned sometimes,” Del says apologetically. 

Robin tucks the card into his pocket and gives her a smile. “Me, too.”

Nick is watching this interaction with a bored expression, and as soon as Robin’s hands are free, he shoves a bag at him. It’s a heavy department store tote, presumably full of gifts from his grandmother - Nick’s trying to carry a similar bag himself in one hand, while he wrestles his overstuffed suitcase with the other. 

“Oh, Nicky,” Del says, suddenly emotional. “I miss you already. Please say you’ll come see me again soon.” She squeezes between the bags to give Nick a hug, which he endures patiently. “We could get together sometime after the new year,” she offers, looking at Robin. “The three of us.”

“Absolutely,” Robin says, but any further words are cut off by the need for him to suddenly grab the other bag of gifts before Nick drops it.

“Let’s move, man,” Nick says. “Bye, Grandma.” There’s another flurry of goodbyes, and then they’re finally out the door.

Robin realizes he's being unusually quiet as they walk around the house to where he parked, but his head is full of questions that he can’t ask Nick. _So, kiddo, do you like your grandmother? And your dad, how specifically does he actually feel about her? Can you fill me in on what happened there? Or at least mention what you told her about me to make her so friendly?_ Some stuff simply isn’t fair to ask a kid about his parent, and that includes getting cheat codes for the escape room of Glenn’s brain.

“Was it a good visit?” he finally asks. “You had a nice time?”

Nick shrugs. “It was fine.”

Once they’re back to the car and ready to get on the road, Robin turns the keys in the ignition. The radio comes on with the rest of the car, but the normal public radio programming has been preempted with the crooning tones of Bing Crosby singing White Christmas. They both reach for the stereo, but Robin gets there first, practically stabbing the off button with his finger. 

“I fucking hate Christmas music,” Robin says under his breath as he pulls away from the curb. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, and he certainly didn’t mean to swear in front of Nick (although he has to admit he’s fighting a losing battle on that front). But this was heartfelt. 

“I get it,” Nick says. “It’s so repetitive and syrupy, and it’s like… sleigh-bells and snow and shit? I’ve seen snow maybe twice.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Robin says. “Not a lot of Christmas imagery for California, huh.” 

“The Trio’s great, obviously,” Nick adds hastily. 

Neither of them speak for a guilty moment. 

“You wanna know where Glenn hid your Christmas present?” Nick offers. “Might cheer you up.”

“It’s not time,” Robin says sadly. “Two more days.” 

Nick nods regretfully. “Two more long days.”

“Tomorrow is Stamplers?” Robin asks. 

“No, we were at Stamplers yesterday, remember? Tomorrow is Oak-Garcias.” Nick counts off the itinerary on his fingers. “And then the next morning you drop me off at Freemans and go see Penny and Connor,” Nick says. “And then I guess we open presents once we get back after dinner.”

“Jesus,” Robin mutters. They drive along for a few tense but tired minutes. Robin’s just thinking about their itinerary, grumbling in his head about how all these well-meaning families are so determined that Nick won’t be alone at Christmas that the poor kid is burned out already - and it’s only the 23rd. It’s been a gauntlet for Robin, too, and there’s only so much small talk he’s been able to make with Glenn’s friends. Nobody wants the two of them to be alone at Christmastime, but frankly, some alone time sounds like a reprieve right now.

“So, Nick,” Robin asks suddenly. “How’s your dank bone disorder treating you lately?”

Nick freezes. Maybe he hadn’t realized Robin was in the loop on that little scam, but Connor basically handed over a whole folder before he left. The actual important documents and medical records are heavily annotated with all kinds of commentary about the various lies and shortcuts that Connor developed over the years to keep Nick’s life running smoothly. Robin hasn’t had much interest in disrupting a system that seems to work and isn’t hurting anybody, but he also hasn’t felt the need to tell Nick everything he knows. 

“Because it’d be a shame if you felt a little under the weather and I had to call everyone and cancel your plans for the next few days,” Robin says. He’s trying to finesse this carefully. He’s well aware that Nick still sees him as a narc, and if Nick thinks this is some sort of trap, it won’t go well. “Not much to do but stay at home and recover. Play some video games, watch some TV. Order some Thai, maybe.” 

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence.

“Yeah,” Nick finally says. “I was trying to power through, but I give up. I probably need some bubble tea, too, for my electrolytes.”

Robin relaxes and smiles. “We’ll take care of that right now. I’ll get one too, just in case. Better safe than sorry.”

Nick gets out his phone to look up boba shops on the way home. “Thanks, man. I’ll go see everybody at some point, I just… need some downtime.”

“Amen to that,” Robin says. “And if opening some presents later today would help with your electrolytes, we could probably look into that, too.”

“And you won’t tell dad we got into them a little early?”

“Snitches get stitches, Nick,” Robin says solemnly. “That’s the Wright family motto.”

He catches Nick giving him a look from the passenger seat. “No, it’s something about honor and virtue, I don’t really know.”

“You should open your present from me,” Nick suggests. “And then we’re both implicated in the crime.” 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Robin nods. “Smart.”

Nick’s thoughtful and quiet for a moment. “The Close family motto is like, smoke weed every day.”

“The Close family motto is just a blank space on the crest,” Robin counters, “because your founding ancestral father was thinking about wombats instead of paying attention to the question.”

Nick laughs. “Get his ass, Robin.”

Robin allows himself a small smile. They’re getting a reprieve from the holiday gauntlet, Nick seems happy, and Del wants to get to know him better. And on top of that, he’s done with eggnog for the year and getting bubble tea instead. All in all, this day‘s turned out much better than he expected.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn’s always called Nick every day when he’s on tour, even when the kid was so young that he mostly just ate Cheerios next to the phone while Glenn talked. Sometimes it means talking to him from a bus, or waking up stupid early, but it’s important, so he makes it happen. Even if they just talk for ten minutes and it’s all about bullshit, it’s important. Time differences and their schedules have worked out so that the next few minutes are his best opportunity for the day’s call - hanging out backstage, post-sound check but pre-show.

He’s excited to catch up with Nick. When he’d woken up this morning, there’d been a picture on his phone of Robin, his face in his hands. Nick’s caption was:  _ finally kicked his ass at scrabble.  _ Nick’s been relentlessly losing to Robin for weeks, if not months: Robin doesn’t believe in letting kids win any more than Glenn does, and crossword puzzles have taught him all those weird trick words like  _ qat.  _ But Glenn Close didn’t raise a quitter. Nicholas earned that win, and he’s gonna want to tell his dad all about it.

Dominic walks into the green room without knocking. “Hey, we need you to come back out. I want to see if the engineer can get rid of that high frequency stuff we were getting from you earlier.”

Glenn looks up from his phone and frowns. “It sounded fine, man, you didn’t say anything at the time.”

“Yeah, but now it’s bugging me. Just come on, it’ll be fast.”

“To re-do the whole line check and balance the monitors again, and— fuck, no. There’s no point, it’s a huge waste of time. And it’s a nonexistent problem.” Glenn looks at the time. “I gotta call Nick in a minute, anyway.” 

“Do it after,” Dominic snaps. “This is important.”

“No,  _ this  _ is important,” Glenn shoots back. “I give this fucking band every other second of my day, I want fifteen goddamn minutes to talk to my kid, Dominic. Try to meet me halfway, I’m a father, man.”

“That’s not my problem,” Dominic says coldly. He studies Glenn for a minute. “Fine, we’ll leave the sound as-is, but we’re having a meeting after the show. We need to have a conversation about your priorities, Glenn.” He turns and walks back out without waiting for a response.

Glenn glares at the empty doorway for a minute. Part of him really wants to chase Dominic down and beat his ass, but there’s another part that’s learned that sometimes that approach just makes more problems. He’s just… done. He’s finally done. He’s gonna talk to Nick in a minute, about whatever Nick wants to talk about, and then he’s gonna go do the show. And then after, Spike and Dominic can have a conversation about his priorities if it makes them happy, but they can do it without him. He’s gonna be on a plane home.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Robin_ **

Robin’s startled awake in the middle of the night with his heart racing and his adrenaline pumping. He stays frozen in the bed, trying to listen for anything above the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Then he hears movement. Son of a bitch, there’s somebody in the room with him. He’s gonna die, and his last living thought is going to be that he should have let Glenn keep a machete under the pillow like he wanted to. 

“It’s me, it’s just me, baby,” says a familiar voice, and Robin realizes that Glenn is somehow standing next to the bed. That’s startling on its own, but at least he doesn’t have to try to fight an axe murderer. He leans over to turn on the bedside lamp and slumps back onto the pillows as the adrenaline leaves him in a sudden rush. 

It really is Glenn, looking tired and even more disheveled than usual. He seems a little guilty, or maybe just a little caught off guard himself. “Did you sleep in my bed the whole time I was gone?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Robin’s still trying to orient himself but he’s pretty sure he didn’t misremember Glenn’s flight home by this much. “What’s happening, is everything okay?”

Glenn’s expression twists in a way that’s hard to interpret, but definitely isn’t good. “Uh… yeah, everything’s okay.” Then he sits down on the bed so suddenly it’s like his knees gave out. “I’m kinda unemployed now, though.”

“What?”

“I quit the band.”

“Oh. Oh, damn. Okay.” Robin is stunned for a moment, but moves to sit next to Glenn. “Why? I mean, why this time, why now? Did something happen?” 

Glenn scrubs his hands over his face unhappily. “Not really. Just the usual shit.” 

Robin knows to wait for it, and after a few seconds, Glenn heaves a deep sigh and continues talking.

“It wasn’t that stuff was bad, it was that stuff was _good,”_ Glenn says. “Stuff back here, I mean. You and the guys really fucked up this system I had going. Kinda…” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “Made some of the stuff in my life stand out by comparison. Not in a good way.”

“I see,” Robin murmurs.

“Just got too hard to ignore how much I’m missing out on when I’m gone. Including Nick, I always miss Nick, but…” Glenn sighs. “Guess I’m gonna crash his vacation. It looks like he’s been having fun.”

“His vacation,” Robin echoes. 

“Yeah, I won’t mess with whatever you guys have planned.”

“Glenn, Nick didn’t go to space camp or something. He’s just been doing his normal stuff, and missing you. We all have.”

Glenn gets that suspicious glint in his eye, and he doesn’t say anything, but Robin knows him too well by now. Some part of Glenn is always waiting backstage, holding back to see if he’s earned the encore or not. _Always leave ‘em wanting more,_ as he puts it. He doesn’t trust that he won’t wear out his welcome, and it hurts Robin’s heart. That’s a little too much to deal with tonight, though.

“No more Glenn Close in the Glenn Close Trio,” Robin muses. “What did the guys say when you told them?” 

Glenn gives Robin a sidelong glance. “I kinda didn’t. I just dipped.”

“Oh, Glenn, no,” Robin breathes in shock. That’s a huge clean-up job for somebody, and a lot of hard feelings. But while part of Robin’s mind is fretting about breach-of-contract suits, the main thing he’s thinking about is that Glenn was in crisis and he didn’t take off to parts unknown, or self-medicate into oblivion, or pretend he didn’t notice anything was wrong. He just came home to his family. 

Robin turns toward Glenn and gathers him into his arms. Glenn leans into him, and when he does finally speak again, his voice is hoarse. “I can’t believe I did that. No taking that one back, huh.” He presses his forehead against Robin’s chest and lets out a shaky breath. “I really fucked it up this time.” 

“Shh, no, don’t say that.” Robin rubs his hand in soothing circles on Glenn’s back. “You had to get out of that mess somehow. At least now it’s over, and you’re home.”

“But I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Glenn says quietly into his chest. “The Trio was my one thing, and now it’s gone. I’ve got nothing.”

“No, stop. Listen to me. Every part of the Trio that was worth keeping is right here. You didn’t lose anything important. You’re going to be fine.” Robin runs his fingers through Glenn’s hair reassuringly. “You’ll figure it all out, and you don’t have to do it alone, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Glenn sounds reluctant, but that may be the fatigue.

“And you’re not figuring it out tonight, either,” Robin adds. “You’ve been up for 36 hours and you smell like an airport.” This gets a small laugh from Glenn, so Robin continues. “You’re going to take some deep breaths, take a shower, and then get some sleep. We’ll handle everything in the morning.”

“Right away, _sir,”_ Glenn replies with heavy irony, but he still hauls himself to his feet and shuffles into the bathroom. Robin spends the downtime trying to take his own advice. It’s not easy. All he really knows about the Trio’s finances is that a lot of money comes in, but a lot of money goes out, too. If Glenn isn’t working— but no, it has to wait until morning. He settles himself on the bed and tries not to think about how Nick will take the news.

When Glenn re-emerges, he looks much more like himself. He’s wearing a towel around his waist, his chain necklace, and nothing else. Despite everything else on his mind, Robin can’t stop himself from gazing appreciatively. Glenn catches his glance and laughs. “Hey, old man. You missed all this, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Robin says. “Video isn't the same.”

Glenn grins. “In a pinch, I’ll just go full Magic Mike with it. Charge people to look at this beautiful body. You love that movie.”

“I love the sequel,” Robin corrects him with a smile. “But I don’t remember anybody doing a helicopter dick maneuver in those particular works of cinema.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna charge extra for that.” Glenn starts to drop the towel threateningly, but Robin covers his eyes. “For the love of god, don’t. I regret bringing it up. And put something on or shut the door, Nick is home.”

“Fine, damn. How did I live without you running my life?” Glenn turns the light off and Robin hears him digging out some sleep clothes in the dark before he throws them on and climbs into bed. 

Robin gratefully opens his arms and lets Glenn nestle in, not even minding the damp hair leaving a wet patch on his shirt. He kisses the top of Glenn’s head. “That’s more like it. How are you doing?”

“Mad at how much better I already feel,” comes Glenn’s voice in the darkness, “because it means you were right.”

“Yeah, from time to time that happens.” Robin chuckles. He feels Glenn’s hand tighten on his hip a moment before Glenn lifts himself up to lean over Robin and kiss him. It’s so good to have him back, to be able to hold him and taste him again. There’s no way to record or describe that singular scent that’s layered under the hints of soap and toothpaste. It’s just the smell that means Glenn. Robin missed it so much, it’s bringing tears to his eyes.

Glenn’s getting more fervent now, pressing his tongue deeper into Robin’s mouth as his hands roam, and Robin needs to check on something before they get too carried away. He breaks from the kiss so he can speak. “You played safe?”

Glenn lets his head drop onto Robin’s shoulder with a thunk. “I didn’t even play at all,” he admits. “That’s how bad it was, I just went straight to my room after the show. The afterparty was just more time around those fuckers, you know?”

“Damn, tough luck,” Robin says, with a touch of amusement. Glenn catches the tone and gives a grunt of protest. 

“What?” Robin protests. “I was listening. You had a completely valid reason for not taking advantage of all the hot young groupies.”

“What are you trying to get at?” 

“Nothing,” Robin says. “I’m sure amateurs in hero worship mode have a _lot_ to offer a world-class brat such as yourself. An eager band bunny’s _definitely_ gonna know how to put you in your place.” Glenn smacks him on the arm and Robin laughs. “My point exactly.”

“Oh, you had a point? I drifted off there, sorry.” Glenn yawns theatrically. “You were saying something about how I’m hot and everybody wants me?”

“And yet you’re here,” Robin points out, punctuating his words with a soft kiss. “I must be doing something right.”

“Yeah.” The yawn from Glenn is real this time. “Maybe one or two things.” He leans his forehead against Robin’s shoulder again. “Damn, baby, I think I’m gonna have to rain check this one. I’m wiped out. Promise I’ll jump you as soon as I’ve had some rest.”

”Of course. You’ve had such a long day.” Robin eases Glenn back down to the bed and wraps him in his arms. “We’ll figure everything out, I promise. I’m just so glad you’re home. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Glenn’s clearly exhausted, but Robin is still processing his presence, the solid weight of him and the familiar sound of his breathing. His hand moves down to Glenn’s chest in the darkness, touching the guitar pick and saint’s medal on the chain. ”Don’t feel like you have to keep this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t expect you to hang it on your necklace. I wasn’t… I’m not trying to put myself on that level, or anything.”

Glenn buries a huge yawn in Robin’s chest. “Oh, we’re doing this right now, huh?”

“Sorry.”

“There’s not levels,” Glenn mumbles. “It’s not a competition. There’s just us, okay?”

“I know,” Robin says sheepishly. “I just had a long time to overthink it.”

“Sounds like you, yeah.” Glenn shakes his head. “Don’t think. You’re always trying to get out ahead of this somehow, solve the mystery. It’s not a detective story. Am I here?”

“Yeah?”

“There you go. Don’t think. Sleep.” Glenn taps a finger on the medal. “And this is mine now. You find yourself a new lucky charm.” 

Robin presses a kiss to the top of Glenn’s head. “I’m plenty lucky already.”

“Oh, I walked right into that one,” Glenn groans. “Earnest motherfucker.”

“You missed it,” Robin says, satisfied. He affectionately squeezes Glenn’s hip, but Glenn yelps unexpectedly. 

“Fresh tattoo, baby, go easy.”

“Really? When did you find the time?”

“On the bus,” Glenn says proudly. “She did great though, you wouldn’t know by looking at it.” He considers. “And we were stuck in traffic for a lot of it, that helped.”

“Oh, that’s… good. Is it that snake you wanted?”

“No, it’s like…” Glenn lifts his head and draws the shape with his finger on Robin’s chest as he talks. “There’s like an old-fashioned padlock, but it’s a heart, and then there’s like…” He pokes his finger vaguely into Robin’s ribs and hip to indicate the relative location. “Cool skeleton keys.” He drops his head onto Robin’s body again. “I’ll show you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

They rest in silence for a long moment before Glenn speaks up again. “Are you thinking right now?”

“Maybe.”

“Quit it.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I’m right here,” Glenn mumbles.

“Yeah.” Robin smiles. “You’re home.”


	26. Chapter 26

_**Nick** _

As much fun as it is to sleep in, Nick’s got shit to do today. Skate park, swing by the good secondhand shops to check for new fashion arrivals, keep his Smash skills on point, maybe even see if anybody wants to come over and hang out. Homework is Sunday night Nick’s problem, Monday morning, even. 

He glances over at the other bedroom door as he swings by the kitchen for a cold pop-tart. Ever since Robin started sleeping over, there’s been a system. If everyone’s awake and decent, he leaves the door wide open. Otherwise it’s shut tight and locked. Nick appreciates it, because his tolerance for their grossness is based on remaining completely in the dark about it. Robin’s kept up the whole door thing even with Glenn gone, but now it’s open only a few inches, which is weird. Nick isn’t into it when routines get weird. It’s not usually a good sign.

He pads down the hallway and eyes the door. “Yo, Robin. Are you up?” No response comes, so he decides to cautiously push the door open. This would be risky if it were anybody but Robin, but that dude sleeps in more clothes than most people leave the house in. 

Robin is still asleep in bed, as it turns out, but that’s not the important part. Against all logic, his dad is there too, in all his uncombed and snoring glory. He’s using Robin as a pillow, and he’s in a leftover Trio t-shirt from a few years ago, and he’s here. Not on the other side of the world but home, where he belongs. Nick’s heart leaps and he’s rushing into the room without thinking about it, jumping up onto the bed so he can tackle Glenn with a hug. “Dad! You’re here! How are you here?”

Glenn wakes up just fast enough to absorb the hug and turn it into a grapple. There’s a lively wrestling match before Nick gets tossed to the end of the bed. “It’s a ring-out,” Glenn declares. “Flawless victory.” 

Nick sits up, prepared to pounce again for the rematch. Glenn’s yawning and trying to get his t-shirt untwisted, though, so he holds off. Plus, they got pretty close to smacking Robin with an elbow in that last round. Because of course Robin’s right there too. It’s a little weird to have tackled Glenn right out of his arms, but frankly Nick’s just too psyched about his dad being home to care.

Glenn’s got a look on his face, though and Nick doesn’t like it. He’s home early and he’s got something on his mind. That means something’s wrong, and it kicks Nick’s brain into catastrophe mode. Glenn’s sick, or Robin’s sick, or Grandma is sick. Or Glenn finally did some shit so egregious that he’s going to jail. Or — “Dad, just tell me whatever you’re trying to figure out how to tell me. I can handle it.”

Glenn looks startled. The man still hasn’t figured out that Nick can read him like a book. “Yeah, I mean…” Glenn stammers for a second, glances over to Robin for moral support, and then looks Nick in the eyes. “Nick, I quit the band.” 

“Oh, that’s all?” Nick asks, the relief hitting like a wave. “Just the band? Good for you. Fuck that noise.” He catches himself. “Sorry, Robin.

“No, that’s appropriate,” Robin agrees. “Fuck that noise.” 

“Really?” Glenn asks. “You always say you’re the GC3’s number one fan.”

“I’m more the number one fan of its frontman,” Nick responds. “I can take or leave the rest.” Glenn gives him that soft as hell look that manages to sneak onto his face sometimes, and Nick smiles back. “This is awesome,” he says. “You’re home! You’re free!” 

He scrambles back up to the head of the bed, and Robin scoots over so there’s room for Nick to sit between them. He’s kinda bouncing up and down, but this is just too good. “You can be home on weekends now! You’re here all day today!”

He grabs his dad’s hand and swings it eagerly, just for the sake of burning off some of this sudden extra energy. “For the first time in a billion years, you don’t have a show, or a business meeting, or a rehearsal, or anything. What are we gonna do?” 

Glenn’s been listening to him enthuse about the free time, and when Nick stops talking, he fixes him with a meaningful gaze. “Nicholas. Like you even have to ask.”

Nick nods, holds his hands up and receives a solid double high-five from Glenn. He turns to Robin. “Prepare yourself. You haven’t done Disney until you’ve done Disney with the Close boys.”

“I haven’t done Disney at all,” Robin says in surprise. 

Nick and Glenn make matching noises of disbelief.

“You never took Connor?” Glenn asks.

“We did the Halloween thing at Universal a few years ago,” Robin offers. Glenn groans and Nick hisses in dismay. 

“Call Connor right now,” Nick says. “We’re going. It’s on.”

Robin rubs his face with his hands, looking like he’s trying to wake up. “Okay. Maybe he can come here for dinner after.”

Glenn scoffs. “No, we’re doing this right. Pack a bag, a couple days worth.”

“It’s less than an hour away,” Robin objects. “Why would we stay overnight? You just got home.”

Glenn holds up his hand to make Robin stop talking. “I don’t tell you how to organize your bookshelves, you don’t tell me how to do Disney. Just trust me, man.”

Some kind of look passes between the two of them, one that Nick can’t quite interpret. “Okay,” Robin says. “I’m in. Let’s be a little spontaneous.”

Glenn claps decisively. “Nick, you know the drill. I gotta help this guy pack. We’re on the road in twenty minutes.” He looks Robin over swiftly. “You go find that t-shirt that shrunk in the wash. DILFs of Disneyland loves a double DILF situation. I think our odds are good.”

Robin sighs. “All right, but I’m not wearing the mouse ears.”

Nick catches Glenn’s eye and the resolution is passed psychically and unanimously: their Disney excursion will not be complete until Robin is wearing the tackiest set of mouse ears they can get their hands on. Ideally, something with sequins.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Glenn** _

Because life isn’t fair and Glenn’s life in particular is _extremely_ not fair, it only makes sense that quitting the Glenn Close Trio is just as much work as being in it. 

Despite Glenn’s best efforts to make a clean break, the GC3 is dying messy and slow. Glenn’s been hemorrhaging money over this particular spur-of-the-moment decision - reimbursing venues, repaying advances, and the ever-increasing billable hours of the lawyer, to name a few of the most notable costs. The studio in his home is turning into a maze of discarded band crap that apparently he’s getting in the break-up: unsold merch, random pieces of equipment, three entire boxes of CDs with water-damaged liner inserts. Delightful.

Turns out untangling yourself from the job you’ve had for ten years - the job in the band with your name on it, no less - involves more than walking out the door. At least he texted his agent before his plane took off, or else they might have started dragging the canals of Bangkok for his dead body when he didn’t show up for rehearsal. 

Glenn’s phone is simply not his friend anymore. Sometimes he just opens conversations without looking at them so he can clear the notifications, but it only works for a minute before they start piling up again.

At least he got the business meeting part of the day over with early, and then spent the rest of the day with Ron. That dude can be fully trusted not to pester Glenn about how work is going. They hang out together like they’re already ninety years old and it kicks ass. Do a jigsaw puzzle for a while, make some cookies, eat some cookies, watch daytime TV and yell out the answers for Wheel of Fortune. It’s got Glenn in a good groove, and his step is a little lighter as he walks down the hall toward home. 

The day should only get better from here. This morning, worried mother-hen-mode Robin had offered to fix some comfort food for dinner. While the man’s no good at Glenn’s specialty of scrounging random ingredients from the pantry and making something tasty, he can certainly cook. Glenn’s looking forward to getting comatose on starch and cheese, and maybe if he feels up to it, he’ll let Robin spoil him a little bit before they fall asleep. 

The visual is so clear in his mind that what greets him when he walks into Robin’s apartment is not just a shock but an outright affront. Sitting at the dining table, boldly eating Glenn’s rightful homemade lobster macaroni and cheese, is fucking _Spike._

Robin is standing beside him, refilling Spike’s glass from what looks like a pitcher of Glenn’s rightful mojitos. He looks up as the door opens and gives Glenn a worried smile. “Sweetheart, you’re home, good. You need to talk to David, he’s been having a very hard time.”

“Who the fuck is _David?”_

Robin and Spike both give him baffled looks. Ah, right. Spike is David is Spike. Glenn knows this, when his fight-or-flight reaction hasn’t kicked in over the fact that a former bandmate who shouldn’t even have Glenn’s address has somehow tracked Glenn down. The little punk not only knows that Robin exists, not only has actually _met_ Robin, but worst of all, he seems to have engaged Robin’s protective instincts. 

“Kitchen,” Glenn says abruptly, and stalks past Spike angrily. Robin follows, pitcher still in hand.

“Why is he here?” Glenn hisses as soon as they’re alone. 

“Might be some insight in some of the texts and voicemails I’ve left over the past two hours,” Robin deadpans. “No way to tell.” 

The look Glenn gives him in response must communicate how unhelpful Glenn finds this particular smartassery. Robin relents and pours the rest of the pitcher into a glass that he hands to Glenn. “He was sitting in the hallway for an hour waiting for you, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

Glenn sips the drink to buy time before he responds. It’s obnoxiously, distractingly good. And strong. Robin’s a decent cook but a great bartender, and he knows Glenn likes a heavy pour. He even got those neat paper straws and that one kind of mint from the farmers market. Goddammit. Spike drinks Natty Ice, this kind of thing is completely wasted on him.

“I think he may have been hoping to fight you,” Robin says with a frown. “But he’s calmed down a bit.”

“I could kick his ass,” Glenn mutters. 

“I’m sure you could,” Robin says soothingly. “Hear me out, though. I think it would mean a lot if you apologized to him.”

Glenn stares at Robin. He can’t be serious.

“David and I had a long talk before you got home,” Robin continues. “He’s only 24, and this has been very hard on him. He can’t afford to quit, but Dominic’s been even worse since you left.”

“Maybe he should find a sugar daddy like I did,” Glenn grumbles. “It’s a tough world out there.”

“Angel, it’s not funny.” Robin has a warning edge in his tone. Glenn’s eyes dart toward the doorway to make sure there’s no way Spike is overhearing all these pet names. “You’ve spent more on leaving the GC3 than Spike would have made all year, and you’re still not exactly cutting coupons. You could afford to walk out on Dominic. He can’t.”

Glenn moodily pokes at a piece of mint in his drink. He doesn’t like getting caught on his home turf, where he’s soft. GC3 Glenn and the one Robin knows are pretty different. It’s just… the things he doesn’t like about himself, turned up to eleven. Acquisitive and manipulative, always hustling and placing side bets and looking past the person he’s talking to so he can check for better options. That guy will say anything to get a laugh. Glenn prefers not to inflict that version of himself on anyone he cares about. 

In fact, Glenn’s only just realizing that Robin only saw the Trio perform that one time. He’d occasionally asked if Glenn wanted him to go to a show, but Glenn had always said another, later one would be better. Glenn had figured there’d always be another GC3 show. Kinda fucked up that he never did a proper performance knowing Robin was in the audience. 

“Glenn.” It’s rare for Robin to actually use his name, and it gets Glenn’s attention. “Listen. I know this hasn’t been easy, but I need you to put things in perspective here, all right?”

“Maybe.”

“He looks up to you, but he’s afraid you hate him.” Robin holds up one finger to hush Glenn before he can interject. “Don’t tell him you weren’t thinking about him at all, that won’t help. You worked with him for almost three years. Go say something reassuring so it can end on a high note, okay?” 

Glenn chews on his straw for a minute without responding. There’s gotta be a way out of this. 

Robin sighs, and when he speaks, his patience is audibly wearing thin. “I think it’s the only way he’ll leave, so factor that in, please.”

“Fuck. Next time start with that part.” Glenn drums his fingers on the counter, but this does seem to be the fastest way to get his evening back on track. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll pack up some of the tiramisu to send home with him while you two talk.”

“Would you stop feeding him?” Glenn demands. “He’s like a stray cat, he’ll never leave.”

Robin’s rummaging in the fridge, but Glenn can tell from his tone alone that he thinks he’s being hilarious right now. “You’re right, one of those is plenty for me.”

Glenn gives Robin’s butt a slap for luck, walks back out and sits down across the table from Dav… from Spike. He hesitates. 

“Hey, so, yeah,” Glenn begins. Not a promising start. “I mean like, the band. If you think about it… that was probably as far as it was ever gonna get, you know?”

Spike doesn’t seem to be picking up what Glenn’s laying down. His mouth hangs open slightly as he looks at Glenn. 

“Dominic is a dick,” Glenn says, and Spike nods. Good. Back on firmer ground. 

“We shoulda both dipped at the same time,” Glenn offers. “That would have been even better. Really fucked him over.”

Spike gives a little smile at that.

Glenn makes a manly effort and manages: “I wasn’t trying to fuck you over, man. Just collateral damage.”

Some distant light in Spike’s eyes hints that this might have been what he needed to hear. “Thanks,” Spike says. “Sorry it got so bad for you, I guess.”

“Fuck it, whatever,” Glenn says. “I got some cool projects going. I got some irons in the fire, for sure.” He hasn’t touched anything remotely music-related since he got back three weeks ago, but Spike doesn’t need to know that.

The two of them sit in awkward silence for a moment. What’s taking Robin so long?

“Dominic’s on guitar and vocals now.” Spike hunches down into his jacket. 

“I always thought he had his eye on my gig,” Glenn says grimly. “Like the world is short of guitar players or some shit.”

“I was thinking of picking up guitar,” Spike says. 

“Seriously? You’re a drummer, man, you can be in three new bands by the end of the day if you feel like it.” 

Spike shrugs. Glenn knows there’s no sense in arguing with him about it. Spend long enough in this industry and logic stopped being a factor in most of your decisions.

Spike clears his throat and nods toward the kitchen. “So how do you know that guy?”

Glenn tenses instantly. “I don’t.”

“He called you _sweetheart_ ,” Spike says, puzzled. “I can see two framed photos of the two of you together from where I’m sitting right now. Wait, actually - three. I didn’t see the Disney one before.”

Glenn stares dead-eyed at Spike and shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you, man.” 

Spike stares back at him for a minute and then gives up. Glenn sips at his drink again, forgetting that he already finished it off. The sound of the straw sucking along the bottom of the empty glass is uncomfortably loud. Thankfully, Robin finally rejoins them and the three walk to the door.

“Put this in the fridge when you get home,” Robin says as he hands the container full of dessert over to Spike. “And good luck with everything.” Spike nods earnestly, but Glenn’s pretty sure he’s gonna eat the whole thing on his way home. With his hands.

“Thanks, man.” Spike looks over to Glenn and reaches out for a fist bump. A thought drops into Glenn’s mind from nowhere, and he backs up, leaving Spike with his fist hanging in the air. 

“I’ll be right back,” Glenn promises. He needs to do this before he second-guesses himself.

The studio space is a disaster, but he’s able to squeeze and climb around the stuff to get to the wall where some of his nicer guitars are hanging. Robin still doesn’t get why Glenn needs “a bunch” of guitars, but they’re not just tools of his trade, they’re _art._ They’re _investments._ They’re… a lot of very expensive things to have hanging around the house when he’s not even sure right now that he wants to do music anymore.

He grabs the white Ibanez off the wall. It’s not his favorite, or the absolute priciest, but Dominic always was extra pissy on days he saw Glenn with it. It’s exactly Dominic’s kind of glitter and gold aesthetic, which is probably why Glenn never used it very much. The axe is supposed to make the player look better, not steal focus. Glenn snags a hard-shell case and carries both back out to where Robin and Spike are waiting. Spike still has his fist extended awkwardly. 

Glenn shoves the guitar toward him. “Take this. Sell it or keep it, I don’t care, just make sure Dominic knows I gave it to you.” 

Spike finally lowers his fist and takes the guitar into his hands reverently. “I can’t even play yet, and you’re giving me the...”

“White Ibanez Steve Vai Signature PIA Stallion,” Glenn confirms. Spike looks so stunned that Glenn takes the guitar away again and puts it safely in the case before it gets dropped. “That’s your severance pay or whatever. Your alimony. Go get good and rub it in Dominic’s face, okay? You and me are even now. We’re square, officially.”

Spike nods, eyes wide. Glenn doesn’t like how sentimental his former drummer‘s expression is getting. He grabs Spike by the shoulder and steers him out the door and into the hallway. Spike stands there for a second, clutching the guitar case and looking confused. 

“Forget you know this address, or I’ll kill you,” Glenn says. “I’ll see you around.” 

He closes the door firmly and locks it. Robin is right there, trying to pull him into a hug, but Glenn squirms out of it. “Stop it. That wasn’t nice, that was revenge. It’s getting too cluttered in the studio anyway.”

“Fine.” Robin looks annoyingly amused. “Are you hungry?”

“Of course I’m hungry, that took a lot out of me. Is there anything left or did _David_ eat it all?”

Robin’s already on his way to the kitchen. “There’s plenty left, gorgeous, I made lots. You just probably won’t be able to eat leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”

“It’s not fair,” Glenn grumbles, but sits down at the table anyway. Robin brings out dinner and sets it in front of him. It’s still hot and smells delicious, but Glenn can’t totally focus on it yet. Having the band stuff jump out at him unexpectedly really brought back that twisting feeling in his stomach. He picks up his fork and pokes at the panko crust thoughtfully. “Maybe quitting was a bad idea.” 

Robin sits down across from him and studies him for a minute. He’s possibly heard this line of thought from Glenn a few times already in the past couple of weeks, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to indulge it again. “Come on. Make your choices...” Robin prompts.

”And don’t look back,” Glenn responds. “Don’t Han Lue me, old man, you still haven’t even watched the movies. Actually, can we watch one tonight?”

Robin hesitates. It’s truly so generous of Glenn to love this man even though he has no appreciation for quality cinema.  
  
”You gotta be nice to me,” Glenn says around a mouthful of food. “I’m— damn, this tastes good— I’m having a _very_ hard time right now.”

”Clearly,” Robin says dryly. He sighs. “We’ll see.”

Glenn grabs another forkful of food and smirks. He’s gonna get everything he wants, he can already tell. Life’s still not fair, but occasionally, with the right people around... it’s good.


	28. Chapter 28

**_Glenn_ **

With his thumb tucked close to his palm, Glenn has been pushing his wedding band back and forth as he watches TV. A force of habit that came with more than a decade of wearing the damned thing; when he notices himself doing it, he spins the band once before letting his hands fall limp in his lap.

He should pay a visit to Orchard Hill soon. Drag out their often-forgotten picnic equipment and spend some time. Nick fills her in on everything she’s missed in however long it’s been since they’ve spoken last. Glenn opts for brushing any dirt off the face of the headstone, or plucking any rogue weeds to keep up appearances.

It's coming up on the anniversary of the first date on the stone. Everyone assumes it's the second one that's hard for him, but that particular date never meant anything to the two of them. Her birthday, though... she was the one who convinced him of how cool it is that any given day of the year is special to _somebody._ She taught him to look forward to his, and to get started planning early on how to make hers memorable.

He'd tried to keep it up - for Nick, at least, for quite a while, and for himself when he felt up to it. For the past couple, they'd just "gone off the grid" for Nick's birthday. ("Off the grid" meaning a camping trip where the Close boys voluntarily let themselves be separated from WiFi for a few days, ate themselves sick on junk food, and played cards.) This year, that didn't feel right. Too much like Faerun, and too many other social obligations to work around. Nick had just wanted to hang out with his friends, so Glenn had funded that outing. Something tells him that she wouldn't have been impressed by that level of effort, but she never had to deal with Nick at this age. 

(Whatever age that even _is_ , because while they were sitting around baked the other day, Nick had pointed out that their chronological ages didn't line up with their calendar ages anymore, thanks to time dilation fuckery with the portal. Nobody was particularly worried about calendars while they were in Faerun, but Glenn still tries to make the math make sense sometimes when he's stoned and introspective. Fuck it, though, they still gotta live by what The Man has in their files, so that's how old they are.) 

His phone buzzes on the couch next to him, and he picks up the well-worn case with a sigh. The show was just getting good, and whoever needs him better have an excuse for it. As expected, it’s Robin, with a frustratingly grammatically correct text.

_Did I leave my work folder home? It’s either in my office or in the bedroom, if you don’t mind looking for me._

Glenn picks at his phone case, mustering up the willpower to push himself off the couch, into the hallway, and over to Robin’s home.

_ofc i mind_

But he gets up anyway. Drags his feet out the front door, over to his neighbor’s house, tries the handle, and remembers that Robin’s the type of paranoid idiot who locks his door. He backtracks with a grumble and grabs the house key out of the bowl by the door (made by Nick Close, age seven, at summer camp).

Once he manages to hack into the Wright household, he lets himself into Robin’s office to the left of the door. Even going into this room feels like a break-in, since this is generally prohibited space for anybody but Robin. Not that that’s ever stopped Glenn, but he tries to choose his moments. He'd rather let Robin finish up his spreadsheets or whatever in peace than have to deal with Robin when he's crabby and still thinking about unfinished work. 

The room is neatly cluttered, with mellow blue walls and a couple of well-tended houseplants that, in hindsight, Glenn has never seen Robin actually tend. Robin seems like a man who'd talk to them when nobody else was around, maybe gentle words of encouragement as he plucks away any dead leaves, or mutters about his job when it gets a bit frustrating. Maybe he tells the plants all about his hot mess boyfriend. Glenn strokes his thumb over a waxy leaf and smiles at the image. He grabs a dying leaf at its base, and he’s not sure why he feels compelled to, but he murmurs an apology before tossing it in the garbage.

A cursory glance around the desk area proves futile, and Glenn huffs a sigh at the dawning realization that he’s going to have to try a little harder. Robin has his own secret organization system that Glenn’s only tried once to figure out. He shuffles through some loose papers, flipping their tails up to check if they’re hiding anything.

When he upends another stack during his search, Robin’s reading glasses slide out. At this point, they’re probably the backup pair’s backup; neither of them are particularly great at remembering where their glasses are at any given time. Glenn at least has an excuse, since he was suckered into buying them and never thinks to use them in the first place. Robin actually relies on his, he’s just comically bad at keeping track of them.

He plays with the thin metal arms of the glasses absently as he scans the desk for the mysterious manila folder. There was one time when Glenn snuck up behind Robin and swiped the glasses off his face while he was working, probably a contributing factor to his office exile. He bolted pretty quickly, Robin nearly knocked his chair over trying to chase him, and Glenn was inches from the sweet freedom of the bedroom before Robin got his arms around his waist and picked him up. All the flailing in the world couldn’t prevent Robin from getting his glasses back, and Glenn got set down with a kiss to the forehead.

The desk, upon further inspection, has a top drawer that is cracked open. Glenn sets the glasses down in the middle of the desk, looks around, before sliding it the rest of the way. Inside is not only the folder in question, but various bits of things Robin’s collected over the past months like a sentimental magpie: mints from the bar where they play pool sometimes, a token from that arcade by the beach, one of the GC3's custom guitar picks. 

What mostly catches his eye, however, is the printed out picture of himself. He skims his pointer finger down the image, before picking it up to look at it properly. It’s taken from Robin’s porch, a side profile of Glenn as he smokes and tries not to look at the camera. His hair’s braided back and if he remembers correctly, he’s wearing one of Robin’s stolen shirts. Incredibly creepy if it weren’t for the context—Nick’s photography elective required at least three photos to bring in and develop in the darkroom for their final project. The weekend itself was full of Connor and Nick darting back and forth between apartments, trying desperately to catch Robin off-guard and snap a picture where he wasn't tensed up from knowing the camera was pointed at him.

Glenn has that companion picture somewhere in his room. It’s Robin laughing on the couch, taken moments after Nick ordered him to stop doing that thing with his mouth. Glenn, who only heard that one sentence, made an off-hand comment about how that’s “just his face,” and the laugh is forever immortalized. Glenn wiggles the print in his hand once, laughs to himself at the wobbling noise it makes, and sets it down in the middle of Robin’s desk, next to the glasses. Two important things Robin should remember, dammit. 

Quickly, he snaps a picture of himself with the folder and shoots it off to Robin.

_want me to bring it to u?_

Unlikely. Robin banned him from work visits months ago, on the grounds that he was far too distracting. Glenn banned Robin from coming to the gym with him for similar reasons.

Glenn plops down into the office chair, feet planted as he sways back and forth and waits for the reply. 

_No, that’s okay, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t lose it. Thank you!_

Glenn groans up at the ceiling, slides the folder underneath the photo and the glasses, and lets himself out the front door.  
  
***  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my favorite things that shrack brings to the story is just the *moments,* y'know? - ff


	29. Chapter 29

Thirteen minutes into Nick’s English class, and he’s already doodled so many tattoo ideas in his notebook that his hand is starting to hurt. He’s trying, he really is, but this teacher hasn’t said a single thing worth writing down yet. He’d thought the book itself was fine - a kid survives a plane crash and learns how to be a badass forest survivor, what’s not to like? But listening to his teacher talk about the _symbolism_ of the protagonist rejecting the rifle is pure torture. In Nick’s estimation, rejecting the rifle _symbolizes_ that the main character is a dumbass. Why do English teachers always have to take a book that he didn’t totally hate and skin it alive until he can’t stand the sight of it?

Ugh, his inner monologue is gruesome today, and he knows exactly why. He can still smell formaldehyde on his hands from the fetal pig dissection that he and Austin did this morning. Nasty. At least Austin wanted to do most of it herself, infodumping all the while about vasculature and stuff, but he still had to actually participate when the teacher walked past their bench. Nick’s no vegan, but he’s probably not gonna be able to stomach pork until this particular unit is over. The thing’s just so… rubbery.

Every ninth grade science class is doing this for the next two weeks, so maybe Sparrow’s going to get his way on the food at the group hang-outs for a while. Nick almost rolls his eyes, picturing it. Sparrow probably clasped his hands in that way that he has and looked up with his alarmingly unblinking eyes and explained in far too many words why he wouldn’t be doing the assignment. Lark, on the other hand, probably asked for an extra pig. TJ’s pretty unflappable about school stuff in general, so he likely didn’t care. And Grant...

Oh, shit. Grant. Grant and cutting up stuff. This might be bad. When is Grant’s science period? Isn’t it now?

Nick’s on his feet before he even realizes. His chair scrapes back loudly, and all eyes turn to him. 

“I have to leave,” he blurts out. “Because… I have to.” He squeezes out of the line of desks and bolts out the door. His teacher’s saying something, but he’s not paying attention. She’s not trying to follow him, so she’s not his problem right now. 

Nick walks through the nearly-empty halls at the fastest pace he can manage that won’t attract notice. He realizes he’s going to go past Lark’s classroom, and pauses for a second to bang on the door and wave frantically through the window. He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes off again. A few seconds later, he hears the door open and Lark jogs up beside him.

“What’s the plan?” Lark says as he catches up.

“I don’t have one.”

“I love it!”

Man, he’s glad he came across Lark and not Sparrow first. Half a sentence into Nick’s explanation of the situation, Lark starts rattling off ideas, starting with arson and somehow getting _more illegal_ , but Grant’s classroom is fast approaching and Nick has to think fast.

The door is open, which means nothing serious has started yet. Good, that’s a great sign. Mrs. Campbell looks over as Nick appears in the doorway, but the pleasant smile on her face drops when Lark ducks under Nick’s arm and makes himself known.

“Greetings, teacher! My friend Nicholas Close here left his notebook by his desk, where he sits,” Lark is saying, and Nick offers a nod before he’s wandering his way back, past his seat and towards the back of the classroom, where the pigs reside. When he feels eyes on him, he looks up to see Grant staring at him with wide-eyed panic on his face.

Nick throws him a finger gun for good measure. He has no idea what he’s doing.

“…and that is why I have decided to become a hall monitor and escort him to your classroom.”

Mrs. Campbell doesn’t react to him and instead turns to look at Nick, who is standing immediately next to the shitty plastic cart of pig fetuses. The standoff is creating palpable tension. Nick maintains eye contact with Lark as he grabs one end of the cart, holds for a moment so Mrs. Campbell starts approaching, and then flips the entire thing one way while making a mad dash in the opposite direction.

“Fire!” Lark yells, and sure enough, as Nick sprints down the aisle and back out the door, there is somehow a trash can fire brewing by the chalkboard. Mrs. Campbell is frozen between the two evils, the kids are screaming and scrambling to get away from both the pigs and the fire at the same time, and Nick grabs Lark by the wrist so they can haul ass down the hallway and into the boys’ bathroom. He catches one glimpse of Grant before he leaves, sitting on top of one of the lab benches and looking mildly concerned. 

Lark is bouncing excitedly, probably itching to start a new fire somewhere or something equally as terrifying. Nick, too, is buzzing with nervous energy, and he scrubs a hand over the side of his head nervously.

“Okay, okay, we should head back to class,” he says, pacing in front of the urinals. “If they have to come get us, it’s gonna be worse.”

Lark nods, doing the swift mental calculations of a seasoned convict. “If we play this right, you can probably get away with a couple of after-school detentions. Your record’s pretty clean, and I don’t think your dad will care, right?”

“Not like yours will,” Nick grimaces. The question of Lark’s own less-than-clean record and how the hell he’s still allowed in school is one that he’s never really gotten an answer to.

Lark waves off the concern. “Brother’s had a burner phone since third grade,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We both can do excellent impressions of many adults, including our parents.” He looks a bit smug. “Failing to plan is planning to fail, Nicholas.”

Nick is really, _really_ glad he’s on these two’s good side. “Great, okay. Ready?”

Lark gives Nick a salute, turns on a heel, and heads out the door. Nick glances at himself in the mirror and grins—hell yeah, he saved his friend, he stuck it to the man, he’s got a great story to tell his dad. And then, he has the slowly dawning realization that he’s picturing the _last_ time he called Glenn for something like this. It was a little longer ago than Nick realized. Before Faerun, and all the changes that caused. Before Robin was in the picture and Glenn started intermittently going _dad mode_ in an attempt to impress.

Without the band, Glenn has been way too bored these past few weeks. His need to start shit might actually outweigh his desire to stay on the couch if he gets this call. 

Or even worse, maybe Glenn will have wandered over to what the kids have started jokingly calling “the compound” out of earshot of the adults. If he got input from Grant’s dad or the Oak-Garcias, Glenn might try to do something even more traditional parent than he’d bother with for Robin. At least as far as Nick’s seen, Robin considers himself mostly off the hook for supervising Nick if Glenn’s around. Mr. Wilson, on the other hand, insists on supervising the parenting of every kid he’s ever met, including Nick. If Glenn got bored and went to the Compound today, calling him would be a mistake. Too many dads over there. 

(Nick knows it’s kinda fucked up to make jokes about the compound, but _seriously_. Once Grant and his dad were officially _living_ there and not just _staying_ there, the sheer amount of humans and animals at that place was absurd. Plus now that Mr Oak was homeschooling Paeden, he had more time to turn the yard into a garden, and Mr Wilson had restored the old treehouse and started building a tiny recording studio in the backyard, and Mrs Oak-Garcia finally got those beehives she wanted, and Grant and his dad were building that doghouse for Grant’s new puppy... well, in Nick’s book, that’s too many people, too much livestock, and too many outbuildings. The whole vibe had finally and irretrievably slipped into Wicker Man territory.)

So Glenn, no. Robin, though less of a narc than perhaps initially suspected, is also obviously no good. Nick would have to be in pretty dire straits to call Del, and that basically exhausts his list of adults. Unless, of course, Enrique from upstairs feels like doing a _huge_ favor for a kid who’s been his plantsitter a couple of times since Connor moved away.

Actually...

Nick gets summoned to the principal’s office not ten minutes later. He mostly tunes out during the lecture, thinking about the phone number he needs to remember in order for this ruse to go correctly. And sure enough:

“I’m going to hand you the phone, and you’re going to call your father, you understand me?”

Nick nods and types in the number, knee bouncing nervously as it rings. Connor’s also not the type to answer strange numbers, so he really hopes he pulls through this time. Maybe he has the high school’s number in his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad.”

There’s barely a pause. “Hello, son.”

“I um, I kind of got into some trouble at school, and they’re asking you to come in and talk to them.”

Connor curses under his breath, and Nick glances up at the principal, who looks none the wiser. 

“I’m pretty far, dude,” Connor objects. “I hope this isn’t too time-sensitive.”

Nick glances over at the principal, then back down at his shoes. “Yeah, I’m sorry to bug you at work, _dad.”_

“Not sure you thought this through, Nicholas. They’re gonna know me when I walk in.”

“Say you’re my guardian,” Nick hiss-whispers, catching the principal’s eye and offering a small smile, “what are they gonna do, say no?”

Connor sighs. “You have to give me time, bro. Tell them I’m at work, I can make it in an hour.”

At the end of the day, Nick trudges his way back to the principal’s office only to find Connor, in one of Robin’s cardigans and inexplicably wearing a fake mustache, standing outside in the hall. 

“Why would you wear the fucking mustache?” Nick grumbles, glancing around nervously. Connor slaps a hand on his shoulder.

“Language, sport.” 

Nick wants to die.

Sure enough, as soon as they walk into the office, the principal looks up and sighs.

“Connor, take the mustache off.”

“Please, call me Mr. Wright,” Connor says, and Nick wishes his hoodie would rise up and swallow him whole. “I’ve come for my son, Nicholas.”

“I know you’re not Nick’s dad, Connor. You graduated last year. You were the valedictorian.”

“He’s my guardian,” Nick says, and the principal raises his eyebrows.

“Correct,” Connor says. “Now, if you don’t mind, my son and I will be on our way. He’s got plenty of chores and homework to do before bed.”

From what Nick’s gathered, most of Connor’s high school career walked the same line as his graduation speech: dancing right up to the edge of breaking the rules (and sometimes a bit over) but with enough academic excellence, charm, and plausible deniability to never get in serious trouble. Nonetheless, he and the principal have locked horns before.

And then there’s Nick, who doesn’t get in trouble often, but has a bad habit of doubling down when he does. He hates feeling cornered and shamed, and he usually ends up yelling some shit that gets him in more trouble. Then things escalate, and sooner or later the buck stops with Glenn, and Glenn historically either doesn’t give a single shit or gets even madder than Nick does.

The principal must do the mental math of the last few times either of these two boys was in his office, and what it might mean now that both of them are on the same team, because he gives another full-bodied old man sigh. “Look, I still have to give Nick detention for a few days.”

Nick twists his hands nervously on his backpack straps. “Does it have to go on my record?”

Connor leans toward Nick but keeps his eyes on the principal as he stage-whispers. “The record is a myth, dude, don’t worry about it.”

Oh. Well, that means he can tune out the rest of this conversation. Connor gets the principal laughing about some dumb shit after a few minutes of talking. Nick relaxes and sneaks out his phone to see if Grant has responded to any of his texts yet. Nothing. 

The door slams open, and Lark walks straight into the office without knocking.

“Hail and well met, Principal Man!” he announces, and Connor points at him without looking.

“I’m his guardian, too.”

The principal stares him down. “Get out.”


	30. Chapter 30

**_Glenn_ **

Today’s the day, Glenn’s decided. Things have gone far enough, and he’s gotta get back on the horse. He can’t remember a time when he’s gone this long without playing, but he’s gonna start losing condition in his hands if he doesn’t get back to it pretty soon. 

Everyone underestimates the physicality of being a musician. It’s important to make it look easy, but it looks easy because he’s done it for hours and hours on end. He can play the same lick at the end of a three-hour show that he could at the beginning, every bit as sharp and fast. Even if his stomach is roiling from bad street food or a pinched nerve is stabbing into his shoulder as he plays, the hands come through. You get that kind of endurance the hard way. Letting it fall away would be a waste, regardless of what he decides to do next. 

He hasn’t walked into his home studio for a couple of weeks. It’s not a great space, really, not a room he spends time in unless he and Nick are using the recording equipment. Mostly he’ll grab a guitar off the wall and play on the couch or the balcony, or even on his bed. Glenn doesn’t like closing himself off in a little box. Reminds him too much of learning to play in his bedroom when he was young. 

Glenn had been excited as hell when Bill had handed down the old acoustic. It felt like a vote of confidence, like Bill was offering the chance for them to be on the same team. With more years and a lot more cynicism under his belt, Glenn eventually realized that it was nothing of the sort. Just a lazy way to get rid of a mostly busted guitar, and for Bill to pat himself on the back for being a good dad. 

Bill had left their first and only lesson in frustration after only half an hour. At the time, Glenn had blamed himself for not learning fast enough, and devoted his efforts to redeeming himself. He’d kept practicing until he raised blisters on his fingers, and then he’d practiced some more. Their apartment was small, and Glenn knew that Bill could hear every note he was playing. But that bedroom door stayed closed. They never talked about the guitar, or the aborted lesson, or the absurdity of Glenn painstakingly teaching himself how to play as Bill watched TV down the hallway.

And then of course, the day had come when Glenn had the chance to perform, and Bill was at the same venue and heard him. He’d had plenty to say to Glenn afterward, most of it bad, but it had all rolled off Glenn like water off a duck's back. The criticisms of his wardrobe, his posture, his song choices meant that even that nitpicky son of a bitch couldn’t find anything to put down about Glenn’s playing. That was a big day. That was the day when Glenn could finally say that he didn’t need Bill for anything anymore. He was 19 years old. 

Resolutions notwithstanding, Glenn gets through most of the day without going into the studio. He’s put it off so late now that Robin and Nick are already home, Robin puttering in the kitchen while Nick holes up in his room. Even with the glacial pace Robin cooks at, Glenn’s either gotta bite the bullet now or punk out on dinner and movie night with the boys. So he pushes up from the couch with a frustrated huff and stalks into the studio.

The first thing he notices is that it smells stale and sour. Glenn leaves the door ajar and throws the window open to get some air circulation going. He’s gotta move carefully, because the floor is cluttered with equipment and boxes. Untangling that mess on any level sounds hella daunting, and Glenn literally sidesteps the problem by grabbing an acoustic off the back wall and sitting down on the floor with it. The instrument is unfamiliar, nondescript - he can’t even remember how he ended up with it. It’ll do. 

Tuning it up feels good, actually. He’s holding a guitar, but he’s not really playing it, he’s… fixing it. Doesn’t count. But once he’s got it sounding right, he slumps back against the wall, unable to figure out what to do next. He doesn’t want to do his normal warmups and click his brain into that track, but it’s been a long time since he started any other way. 

Go far enough back though, there was a time he didn’t warm up at all - he’d just sit down and start bashing away at whatever song he was trying to learn. Mostly metal at that age: Crüe, Def Leppard, Cinderella. God bless those Sunset strip rockers, most of them taught themselves three chords and called it a day. Which meant, in turn, that young Glenn could listen to his cassette collection and figure out how to play something in the same neighborhood. 

There were a few legit pros in that scene, too, and the stuff they did in their solos had made Glenn nearly weep in frustration while he was learning. That perilous gap when you know what sounds good, so you know that you don’t sound even close to good yet… he’d almost quit. But he’d already started playing with some friends’ bands, and was getting hooked on that performance rush and the energy of making a good sound with other musicians. He’d also started to realize that charisma and stage presence went a lot further than guitar skills would alone. And it was obvious, really - nothing captured the spirit of that spandex and hairspray era than the fact that Axl Rose had heard Slash doing a string-skipping exercise, decided it made a good hook, and managed to hit #1 on the charts with the resulting single. Bill had always said: in the music industry, it’s better to be lucky than good. 

Well, fuck that. Glenn has been lucky _and_ good, in his day. And the way _Sweet Child O’ Mine_ sounds as he works through the opening riffs tells him that he’s still good. It really is like riding a bike - he hasn’t played this shit in years, but his hands remember. Even the solo rolls out smooth as can be, and he finds himself grinning before the end. Fuck yeah, that’s good shit. A little more GNR next, flowing right into some Skid Row. Randy Rhoads-era Ozzy, Whitesnake… Glenn’s fifteen years old again, and these bands sound like friends who know what he’s going through. These guys scream about having an appetite for destruction, about primal joys like sex and booze, about heartbreak and rage. He was born too late to hit the Roxy and see the real thing, but he feels the connection when he plays their music. 

These were the songs he was playing when he started to understand why people said they played for the love of it. When he was in the moment, music flowing through him without even stopping at his brain, it was the best fucking feeling in the world. Since long before he ever played for anyone else, he’s been addicted to that moment when the guitar and the music coming from it become as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs. It feels good, it feels right. It feels like a way that he can reach out to the world and say all kinds of things that he can’t otherwise express.

Some sound at the edge of hearing grabs his attention, and he looks up to catch Robin standing in the hallway. He’s got a drink in one hand, a dish towel in the other. 

“Dinner’s ready?” Glenn asks.

Robin shakes his head. “Just listening. Don’t stop on my account.” 

“C’mon in,” Glenn says. Robin steps around the equipment hesitantly and sits down on an amp across from Glenn. First time around, it took Glenn years to let anyone hear him play. He’s been back at it for twenty minutes and already he’s got an audience.

“This next song goes out to Robin,” Glen says, slipping into his on-stage between-songs patter voice. “The Tawny Kitaen to my David Coverdale, the Pamela Anderson to my Tommy Lee - except he won’t make a sex tape with me.” 

Robin snorts. 

“A love song for the ages,” Glenn continues, playing a few warm-up chords in the traditional manner. “This one’s for you, baby.”

The intro sounds funny on acoustic, and Glenn’s voice is rusty, but another nice thing about the first songs he learned: they’re meant to still sound good even if you’re blind drunk, your guitar is held together with duct tape, and your drummer is facedown in the drum kit.

_You know I never_

_I never seen you look so good_

_You never act the way you should_

_But I like it_

_And I know you like it too_

_The way that I want you_

Robin’s covering his mouth with the dish towel and trying not to laugh. Glenn’s not holding it together great either, and the giggles make him slip up and miss a couple notes. He snickers harder, recovers, makes it to the bridge and then to the solo. Robin’s watching this performance with an expression that’s somehow equal parts embarrassed, entertained, and charmed. Glenn’s goofing around more and more as the song goes on, leaning into the fundamental silliness of the back-of-a-napkin lyrics. 

_Down the basement_

_Lock the cellar door_

_And baby, talk dirty to me_

C. C. DeMille really could make that guitar talk, and Glenn does right by him as he plays through the outro - the tricky stuff he’d learned all those years ago, a little improvisation for flavor. He finishes with a flourish and Robin applauds warmly. 

“Is that your new sound?” Robin teases. 

“That’s my very old sound,” Glenn says. “Just brushing some cobwebs off, y’know?”

“Good for you.” Robin smiles. 

Glenn smiles back at him for a second, then notices a tinge to the air that isn’t from anything he’s been smoking. “Is something burning?” Robin curses and runs out of the room. Glenn smirks, sets aside the guitar, and gets up to go help rescue the situation.

As it turns out, Nick had heard the timer and saved the food before it was too burned - though this doesn’t stop Glenn from teasing Robin about his cooking skills, or Nick from mocking both of them for their ability to distract each other. After dinner, Glenn picks Spinal Tap for movie night. In an utter failure on his part as a father and a boyfriend, neither of his boys have seen it before. But both dig it immediately, and Nick laughs so hard at the Stonehenge part that he gets the hiccups. Kid wasn’t even stoned, it’s just that good.

As he heads down the hall to bed that night, Glenn notices that he left the door to the studio open and the guitar leaned against the wall, instead of hanging back up on its hook. He hesitates, but decides to leave it where it is. He’ll be back tomorrow, and it’ll be easier.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Glenn** _

By March, Glenn's nightmare of untangling himself from the band has finally wound down. Eventually there are fewer and fewer meetings with the lawyers, fewer and fewer checks he has to write, and soon he realizes he isn't dealing with it at all anymore. Maybe it'll come back for another few half-baked scares, like the killer from a horror franchise past its prime, but he's gotten most of his mental real estate back. 

It's such an anticlimax that it bugs him. He's been in that damn band since he was a kid, basically. If he doesn't get to ghost it, it doesn't get to ghost him, either. So Glenn comes up with a plan. He and the boys (including Connor, back for spring break) take a day trip out to Machado Lake and hold a Viking funeral for the GC3. Connor provides a small cardboard boat and Nick fills it solemnly with a leftover tour poster, a t-shirt, and printouts of texts from Dominic. A little lighter fluid, a flame from Robin's Zippo, and a solid push from Glenn sends the boat wobbling out onto the water with its ceremonial cargo ablaze.

As it turns out, cardboard soaks up water pretty fast, and the whole thing sinks before it properly burns. Robin ends up wading out to retrieve the soggy mess, and they just stuff the whole thing into a handy trash can. But even if that part didn't go completely according to plan, the funeral feast that they packed makes an excellent picnic. It's a beautiful spring evening, and the vibe just feels right. The mosquitoes are leaving them alone, the water is beautiful, the food is perfect. Robin even loosens up enough to agree that the boys can each have a small glass of wine.

Whether or not they successfully burned the GC3 down, Glenn feels unburdened anyway. His mind is starting to spark with ideas as to how he can spend his time now - other musicians he's always wanted to collaborate with, song concepts he's been interested in exploring. Maybe even pick up a new instrument, or technique, or something. Once he ended his dry spell with music, it's been good again. Scattered, but good. He plays every day for at least a little bit. He's trying to get back into some kind of routine for himself, but he's not ready to make any longer term commitments than that right now.

The gym though, that's a solid part of the routine. It's for the aesthetics, yeah, but it's also just one of the better ways he knows to ground himself. He can get real antsy if he doesn't wear himself out. Robin's just as bad if he doesn't get enough time riding his bike. It's a shame they can't find a physical activity that they both like (other than, _y'know_ ), but given how competitive they can get over the weirdest stuff sometimes, maybe it's for the best. 

Glenn is about to put weights on the bar of the squat rack when the music in his headphones is rudely interrupted by a phone call. He swears softly and answers without a second thought.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mr. Close?”

Great. “Who’s asking?”

The woman on the phone says vague niceties that he’s barely paying attention to, and he’s debating whether to hang up. Then he nearly drops the entire plate onto the ground when she finally gets around to explaining that she’s calling from the hospital because he’s Robin’s emergency contact. She says Robin’s been checked in due to a minor car accident. He hears something about no serious damage, but he’s too busy jogging out of the front door of the gym and into his car to care. Robin’s fine, he has to repeat like a mantra as he speeds out of the parking lot, but traffic laws be damned.

Hospitals have become a natural enemy of Glenn Close, and even stepping foot in one he’s never been in before gives him this sinking feeling in his stomach. Everything’s too bright and everything smells sterile, and yet it makes him feel gross enough to want to take a shower and never come out. He puffs out a breath and shifts on his feet anxiously as he waits for the person at the front desk to tell him where to go. Every step of the process makes him want to just sprint down the hall and hope he comes across whatever room Robin’s in. If it works in movies, right?

The nurse or whatever who eventually escorts him through the hallways has squeaky shoes and walks too slow. Glenn feels like he’s playing a walking mission in a video game, where the NPC’s base speed is just a hint slower than the player’s, and yet it yells at you if you go too far ahead. It’s excruciating, and she’s trying to make calming small talk with him, but Glenn is focused elsewhere, and at least she takes the hint.

“We did have to get him on some painkillers,” she says as they approach the door, “so he might be a little out of it. But you can head right in. I’ll grab the paperwork so you can take him home.”

Glenn mutters a “thanks,” but it still takes him a moment to gear himself up to head inside. None of the stuff he’s dreading is actually what’s waiting for him inside that room. Robin’s cleared to go home, he’s not gonna be hooked up to monitors or unconscious or anything like the pictures that Glenn’s brain is unhelpfully supplying. Glenn forces himself to walk into the room before he can overthink it anymore. Jeez, is this how Robin feels all the time?

Speaking of Robin, he seems just about as eager to leave as Glenn feels. The big guy’s looking a little unfocused, but fine. Besides the ankle cast, he’s got nothing to show for his near miss but a few of those big hospital band-aids on his left arm and cheek. Regardless, Glenn can’t see anyone in a hospital bed and feel good about that as a look for them. At least he’s in his street clothes. Nothing like flimsy hospital pajamas to really make you feel vulnerable. 

The rock that has formed in the back of Glenn’s throat threatens to make itself known, but he forces a wobbly smile as Robin looks over. The smile that Robin returns is about ten times bigger, and nothing forced about it. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Robin says, “What’s doin’?” 

Glenn bites the inside of his cheek to get himself under control and smiles. He approaches and slips his hand into Robin’s, which Robin happily squeezes.

“I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes.” Glenn’s not being convincing at all, he can tell; his voice sounds… small, and he’s mostly just tired. 

Robin is silent for a moment, very obviously in his drug-addled mind trying to figure out what’s wrong. Glenn kicks himself for stressing Robin out at a time like this, and when he finally looks up to make eye contact with Robin, it’s the unguarded worry in Robin’s eyes that nearly makes Glenn break. Because he’s the one who got hit by a car, but he’s worried about Glenn. Typical.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he admits, a little shaky on the edges.

“Oh no,” Robin starts, and tugs at Glenn’s hand to get him into his now-open arms, “No, hey, c’mere.”

It’s not a comfortable solution, but it’s the one they have. Glenn bends over awkwardly to press his face into the crook of Robin’s neck. Robin gets his arms around Glenn, one hand rubbing the small of his back. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” 

Glenn sniffles into Robin’s neck, and the arms around him tighten in response. “Hey, c’mon, you’re too cute to cry,” Robin murmurs, and Glenn chokes out a surprised laugh. “What’s a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this, huh?” The attempted smooth-talking is slurred, and Glenn confirms his assessment with a diagnostic glance at Robin’s pupils. This man is, medically speaking, partying. But still trying to get with Glenn. Some things are core drives, apparently.

When the woman from earlier comes back with paperwork, Robin’s too fascinated by his watch to pay attention and she ends up addressing everything to Glenn. Robin continues to be a lucky bastard in the most unpredictable ways, it seems, and just needs to stay off his ankle for a few weeks while it finishes the repair job that the surgeon started. Could have been a lot worse, and Glenn feels a strange need to thank somebody for that, but he’s not sure who. Plus, the hospital person keeps referring to what Robin’s going to have to do while he heals as “aftercare” and it’s extremely distracting. 

They eventually get the all clear, and Glenn charms everyone into letting him be the one to push Robin to the car in a wheelchair. It takes a minute for him to cajole Robin into getting out of bed. The man looks like he’s about half asleep as it is, it’s been a long wait. 

“Come on, baby, let’s just go home.” Glenn says wearily. 

Robin holds up his hand in a _just wait a minute here_ gesture. “Go home with you?” he asks in a scandalized tone. He tries to get out of the wheelchair for a second before giving up and glaring. “I’m a married man, mister.”

At first Glenn thinks he’s making a weird joke, and then he realizes that Robin’s just not that good an actor, even when he’s not doped up. Glenn’s smile drops. Seems like painkiller brain Robin is operating from some earlier save file where Glenn’s not in the picture and Penny is. Why isn’t Penny his emergency contact, anyway? She’d definitely be more reliable, it was only because of a headphone fluke that Glenn even picked up the phone. She’s probably fine with hospitals. She probably loves them. 

“I’m just trying to take care of you,” Glenn finally says. “No funny business, okay?”

Robin reaches back to pat Glenn’s hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered,” he says, and Glenn has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the residual Boston accent that’s sneaking out while Robin’s guard is down. _Flattahed._ “You’re too gorgeous. We’d have a good time. But I’m not doing that to my husband.” 

That word ping-pongs around Glenn’s suddenly empty skull. Husband is not Penny. Husband is, and there’s no way of avoiding this, almost certainly Glenn. Probably. Right? His heart pounds loudly in his ears. As much as he wants to pry about this mysterious husband of Robin’s, he also desperately wants to leave this awful building. “Okay, well, your ah, husband probably wants you home, so I’m going to take you. Is that all right?”

Robin pats around his pockets for his phone. “I should call him. To make sure.”

“Naturally. Do it on the way.”

Robin messes with his phone on their way out of the hospital, and Glenn nearly has to pry it from his hands in order to maneuver him into the car to go home. There’s probably things they need to deal with soon, like insurance and a new bike, but Robin seems fully invested in trying to remember his husband’s phone number by heart by saying it out loud over and over while he attempts to buckle his seatbelt. It would be incredibly sweet, but Robin keeps getting about four numbers in before he has to start over, and Glenn’s going to lose his mind.

“I have a confession to make, baby,” Glenn starts, but then Robin looks over at Glenn and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. Glenn remembers this look from when Connor first left for college, full of longing, and Glenn’s heart flips in his chest.

“He calls me ‘baby.’” Robin turns back to his phone. “He calls everybody baby, but the way he calls me baby is a different baby.” He blinks happily. “It’s the best.” 

Glenn, who has mostly frozen in the middle of closing the passenger side door, shakes himself out of it enough to muster a soft hum of agreement. He closes the door, and makes sure to go the long way around just to make sure he has enough time to think. 

On the one hand, Robin will almost definitely not remember this, so Glenn playing along with the whole husband thing would probably be easiest. On the other hand, Glenn actually wants to sleep tonight, and if his mind is already racing to unpack Robin thinking they’re married, God knows what his brain is going to get up to later on. As usual, he's gonna have to wing it.

He lets himself into the driver’s seat, takes a deep breath, turns toward Robin, but the words die on his lips. Robin’s slumped against the door, fully asleep with a serene smile on his face. Glenn pulls his own phone out to snap a picture for posterity, shoots it off to Connor with a brief recap of the situation and sets off toward home, thinking (against his better judgment) about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrack did it, don't hurt me  
> also we came up with this so far back that we didn't even know what had happened to morgan yet, but decided to keep this and just address the unfortunate parallel in a later part of this mini-arc.  
> again.  
> this is all shrack's fault.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Glenn**_  
  
Traffic is, of course, bad, and Glenn is tense the entire drive home. Fortunately, Robin sleeps straight through, with no more alarming updates about his marital status to share. They finally make it back to the apartment complex and Glenn parks and unbuckles his seatbelt. He looks over at Robin, who woke up when they stopped and is now turning to blink at Glenn.

“Hi there,” Glenn says cautiously. “Remember me?”

“Glennjamin Close,” Robin mumbles with a little smile. He studies Glenn for a second and then pats Glenn’s knee vaguely. “I like your vibe.”

”Thanks, man,” Glenn says, nonplussed. “You think you can manage those crutches, or should I go borrow Mrs. Ruiz’s wheelchair real quick?”

“I got it,” Robin says. He’s still unfocused and moving slow, but they make it to the elevator with no major issues. Once they’re on their floor, Robin autopilots past Glenn’s door to his own place. Glenn’s mind is elsewhere, so it takes him a minute to notice that Robin just keeps fumbling with the keys and can’t actually get the door unlocked. Glenn takes over so they can actually get inside. 

Robin veers toward the living room, but Glenn tugs him the other way. “Nope, nope, c‘mon. You’re going to bed.”

“By myself?” Robin asks plaintively. 

“Nah, I’ll get you settled in,” Glenn reassures him. “Seems like you might lie down in the bathtub if I don’t, so...”

Robin seems relieved, and lets Glenn steer him to the bedroom and maneuver him so he’s sitting on the bed. Robin is in passive robot mode now, clearly working hard to focus and failing. Glenn hasn’t seen him like this since the Sativa Saturday where they accidentally doubled down on their brownies.

“You want to get changed before you lie down?” Glenn asks. Robin nods: he’s still in his bike gear, his stupid tight shorts and long-sleeved shirt. Glenn kneels down to help him with his remaining shoe, then does his best to help this sleepy giraffe with the rest of it. He’s undressed Robin a hundred times, but apparently it’s not that easy when Robin isn’t actually helping. 

There’s this little edge of anger that’s been showing its fin through the waves of his worry and tension. It’s gaining strength as time goes on and Glenn has time to think - no, to ruminate. Glenn’s _ruminating_ as he maneuvers Robin into a clean set of pajamas, slowly and with many wrong turns. What kind of grownass man rides a bike, anyway? Kids who have paper routes on black and white tv shows. That’s who rides bikes. (Goddamn, it’s not easy getting these pajama pants over the ankle cast.) Glenn’s heard all Robin’s explanations for why he likes it, but the only real benefits in Glenn’s book are that Robin does, admittedly, have nice thighs. And a good butt for a white boy. But he can lift weights safely indoors from now on, like God intended. Glenn’s putting his foot down, as soon as Robin’s sober enough to actually track what he’s saying. 

Robin’s sitting on the bed as Glenn buttons his pajama shirt for him, but a thought crosses his mind and he half tries to stand up. “Where’s Connor?” he asks suddenly. “Is Connor okay?”

Glenn pushes on his shoulder to get him to sit down again. “Stay off that ankle, old man. Connor’s coming home, he’s fine. He probably needs another hour or so.”

“Oh, good. Thank goodness.” Robin looks like he’s thinking hard as Glenn helps him get under the covers and piles up pillows for him. “Where’s Nick? Is Nick okay?

“Nick’s hanging out with TJ today,” Glenn reassures him. “He’s fine. Everybody’s fine.” 

“Oh, good.” Robin nestles into the pillows and sighs. “Wait, where’s Connor?”

Glenn pauses for a second to check if Robin’s joking. Nope. He sighs. “Connor’s fine. Nick is also fine.” 

Robin looks dubious, but nods. Glenn pulls the blankets up around him and tucks him in. Something’s nagging at Glenn’s brain, and he eventually realizes that this picture looks weird because he can’t remember the last time they were over here in Robin’s bed. Fuck, no wonder Robin said _husband_ , he’s practically living with Glenn already. When did that happen?

“Okay, you need another blanket or anything while I’m here?”

Robin doesn’t respond. He looks like there’s a question he wants to ask, but somehow knows he shouldn’t.

”Are you worried about the boys?” Glenn asks, exasperated. 

Robin nods, apologetic.

“They’re fine. Hang on.” Glenn rummages around in the top drawer of the bedside table and finds a sharpie. “Gimme your arm.”

Robin holds out both arms obediently, and Glenn takes the uninjured one.   
  
“Connor... is... fine,” he says as he writes the words on Robin’s forearm. “Nick... is... fine.”

He pauses to think of what else to add. “XO, XO... to my biggest fan... the power was inside you all along.” He finishes with his big flourishy autograph version of his signature. Hell yeah.   
  
“Okay, man.” Glenn puts the cap back on the marker and looks Robin over. He looks like he’s ready to fall asleep. “Get some rest. Hit me up if you want to do dinner or something.” Robin nods vaguely, looks at the writing on his arm, and nods again.

Glenn tried to shake the strange vibe as he walks back to his own apartment. Weird morning. Time to get the day back on track. He grabs a guitar and a nice hefty pre-roll and settles in for some technique drills. He gets most of an hour in before he hears keys in the door and looks up in time to see Connor walk in, looking concerned but nonetheless fresh. You have to be under 25 to pull off that _at_ _all times, I might be about to go to the gym_ look, Glenn reminds himself.

“Dad’s lying down?” Connor asks impatiently.

Glenn nods, but has to interject as Connor walks past him toward Glenn’s own bedroom. “Nah, he’s at his place, man.”  
  
“Is he asleep?”

Glenn shrugs. “He looked sleepy when I left.” His fingers are plucking at the strings. He was on a roll there, and he wants to get back to it.

Connor gives him a strange look. “Wait, where’s Nick?” he suddenly asks. Like father, like son, apparently. 

“Friend’s house,” Glenn says.

“Do you need me to go pick him up?”

“Why?”

Connor stares at Glenn. “Dude, put the guitar down.”

Glenn huffs an exasperated sigh, sets the guitar down on the couch, and stands up to face Connor with his arms crossed. Connor grabs Glenn’s shoulders to hold his attention, and it still irritates the hell out of Glenn that he has to look up at Connor’s face from this range. His temper’s on a short fuse today for some reason. “You called Nick, right?”

“See, man, here’s the thing,” Glenn begins, buying himself time to think of a reason he didn’t do that thing he didn’t realize he was supposed to do.

Connor cuts him off. “Jesus _Christ_.” He’s never sounded more like his dad. “I’m gonna text him.” 

His fingers tense on Glenn’s shoulders, like he wants to shake Glenn but isn’t quite gonna do it. Glenn narrows his eyes. Back in the day, Connor was one of his best students in the highly specialized art of _Glenn-fu_. Connor suddenly pulls Glenn in toward himself, and Glenn almost tries to dodge out of it before he realizes the kid’s just hugging him. Oh. Fine. 

“I’m gonna go check on Dad.” Connor says, a little muffled. “Then I’ll go get Nick.” 

He finally lets Glenn out of the hug and they both take a minute to fix their hair. Before Connor walks away, he gives Glenn a look that’s hard to interpret. Some sympathy, some frustration, something else Glenn can’t totally figure out. “Glenn, man. I love you, and I know this has gotta be bringing up some stuff, but… get your shit together, dude.”

Glenn’s momentarily stunned. Connor doesn’t wait around for him to collect himself and respond, just grabs his keys and phone and leaves.

“The fuck was that about?” Glenn asks the empty apartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret to inform us all that he is still Glenn.


	33. Chapter 33

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn tries to get back to his guitar practice, but Connor’s brief appearance has totally disrupted his vibe. He finds himself pausing every few minutes because he thinks he hears the door of Robin’s apartment opening and closing again. By the time he actually does hear it, and hears Connor head down the stairs, he’s worked himself into a solid sulk about Connor’s callout. 

What does that little punk expect him to do? Sit by Robin’s bedside knitting or something? While the man _sleeps?_ The kid needs a sense of perspective. In the grand scheme of things, this is not a big deal. Definitely not a big deal. This is definitely, _definitely_ not a big deal. Anyone confused about that should just look at him, chilling and playing his guitar and not worrying about it. Getting on with his Saturday, because this is not a big deal at all. 

It’s not like he’s incapable of taking care of people when they actually need it. Their household protocol for when Nick doesn’t feel good is highly specialized, developed through trial and error over more than a decade of colds, stomach bugs, and migraines. Nick hangs out on the couch with lots of blankets, Glenn brings him take-out pho, and they watch a marathon of daytime game shows. (Nick is weirdly good at The Price is Right, while Glenn would _totally_ crush it if he ever went on Jeopardy). But Nick is a kid, and that’s different. Glenn remembers watching his own dad use superglue to seal up a bad cut he’d gotten at his kitchen job, because he said it was the same thing as stitches, anyway. Whenever his mother gets a facelift, she takes a six-week European vacation and doesn’t come back until she’s flawlessly healed. It just makes sense. It’s what adults do.

Robin barely even broke one bone today. Glenn’s broken way more than that at a time and powered through (with a little medicinal whiskey as needed). It’s just what you do when you’re an adult. Nobody likes a crybaby. You just suck it up and keep moving. 

Fine. Fuck it. He’ll go check on him, and then he’ll come back and do something normal again. When Nick gets home, he’s not gonna see his dad pacing and anxious like he’s got bad news to deliver. He’s gonna see as soon as he walks in that everything is fine.

In the hallway between their homes, Glenn takes a minute to make sure he’s giving relaxed body language, a calm face, a chill smile. He’s not worried about Robin. Robin’s not worried about him. Nobody is worried.

In his room, Robin’s still propped on his pile of pillows, his injured ankle up on a pillow of its own. He has a book in his hands, but doesn’t seem to be actively reading it. Despite all the soft textures around him, Robin himself looks rough as he glances toward Glenn. He’s definitely sobered up, and the afternoon light from outside brings out the tense lines around his mouth and the circles under his eyes. 

Glenn approaches the bed with a casual air. “What’s happening, man? You’re just sitting here, feeling like shit?”

“Trying to rest.” Robin sighs. “Sore as hell.”

Robin scoots over as Glenn climbs onto the bed and sits beside him, sharing the pillow pile. He automatically goes to rest his hand on Glenn’s knee, but winces as his elbow moves. Glenn frowns. “Did you already take something?”

“Yeah.” Robin indicates a bottle of over the counter pain meds on the bedside table. 

Glenn scoffs. “Something better than that. I thought they sent you home with the good shit.”

“I don’t do the good shit these days, unfortunately.” Robin’s jaw is tight. Oh right. The Robin that Glenn knows can’t get through a whole cup of sleepy-time tea without passing out. Hard to remember that this guy partied so hard once upon a time that he doesn’t trust himself around certain substances anymore.

“Guess not, huh.” Glenn’s a little sheepish. “I forgot. You can resist everything except temptation.”

Robin arches an eyebrow at that, and Glenn glares in response. “What? I fuckin _read._ You know that.” 

“No, you’re right. You nailed it. Just a long chain of substitute addictions,” Robin mutters irritably.

“Somebody feels sorry for himself,” Glenn says. “How’s your head?”

Robin misses completely that Glenn’s setting him up for the joke. “It’s okay.” 

Glenn tries again, selling it with a wink. “I’d say it’s better than just _okay_ , baby.”

Robin just shrugs a little and turns the page of his book. He’s not ignoring Glenn, exactly, but he’s not as tuned in to Glenn’s vibe as usual. Glenn settles in against the pillows to think and regroup, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe he should have brought food. That always cheers Robin up, and it’s something to talk about. 

His mind ends up wandering to an unexpected place as he sits there watching Robin read. It’s been most of a year since they got back from Faerun, but some bone-deep instinct in Glenn itches to use healing magic. He hadn’t even taken magic too seriously at the time, but he misses it more than he expected. His fingers twitch in remembrance and he finds himself reaching out his hand to lightly touch Robin’s elbow, above the scraped part. It feels like it should just _happen,_ like muscle memory is prepared to channel that power, but nothing happens. Stupid. Of course not. 

“What are you doing?” Robin asks stiffly. 

“Nothing.” Glenn lowers his hand awkwardly. He knows he’s worthless with this kind of stuff, but he can’t help it. He’s always hated seeing people weak or in pain. It feels like he’s invading their privacy and insisting on looking at something shameful. Humans should be more like dogs and just crawl under a porch somewhere until they recover. And if you absolutely have to come out from under there, everybody needs to pretend like you’re fine. That’s just polite.

Robin is picking at the edge of the bandage like he’s not sure whether he wants to take it off or not. “I don’t remember whether they did stitches under there or not. Did they say anything to you about stitches?”

“I don’t think so,” Glenn says. “Don’t remember.” Robin seems concerned by that, so he casts around for something to add. “Don’t worry about it, man. Chicks dig scars.”

It just seems like a funny thing to say, until Robin gives him a puzzled glance and his brain slams him with a vivid echo of his own puzzlement while Bill laughingly said the same thing. Glenn doesn’t remember how he’d gotten hurt that time - he wasn’t that old, he probably just fell down on the sidewalk or something - but he remembers the moment because he had no idea what Bill was talking about. It was just another one of those things Bill said, like _guys in bands get all the tail_ or _ass, gas, or grass, nobody rides for free_. As Glenn got older, he basically understood that Bill had a million words for talking about the same thing, which was _scoring_ , which was the most accurate term possible for how Bill thought of it. 

And now Glenn’s decided to spin that Bill Close chart-topping classic, _chicks dig scars,_ and it seems like the least relevant thing he could possibly say to his very own grown adult man boyfriend. Manfriend. Partner. Whatever. The point is that he and Robin already _dig_ each other, and while gender is best treated as a demolition derby, Glenn’s pretty sure he doesn’t think of himself as a _chick,_ so what the hell is he even trying to say here? 

In fact, now that he’s overthinking it (must be contagious; thanks, Robin), the only other person he knows he’s said _chicks dig scars_ to is Nick, which is even worse because Nick is _fourteen_ and he’s not even interested in _girls_ , and even if he was, fourteen year old girls aren’t _chicks_ , and all in all Glenn is starting to consider whether Mercedes’ witch circle could do an exorcism on him so Bill can stop living in his fucking head.

Goddamn, now the anger is building up on him and there’s nowhere to go with it. He’s gotta keep going, get out of this shitty feeling, move on to a different topic. “So what exactly happened, do you remember?”

Robin groans. “No, they had to tell me about it. Some lady just drifted lanes and clipped my tire, I guess. I think all this is just from me hitting the road.” 

”Oh, _hell_ no. I’m gonna hunt her down and kick her ass,” Glenn growls. 

“That’s excessive,” Robin says, a bit surprised.

“No, man, you could… something really bad could have happened. People shouldn’t get away with this shit.”

“I know,” Robin says, with an infuriatingly passive shrug. “But I’m too tired and achy to be mad about it. I just want to relax and think about something else right now.”

Glenn doesn’t really hear most of what Robin’s saying. It’s all just soothing, pointless stuff in that obnoxious tone that means Robin thinks he’s the smart, calm, mature one here and Glenn’s the immature asshole who lost his temper again. He’d never say it, but Glenn can tell what he’s thinking. Glenn puffs out an irritated breath and shakes his head. 

“Okay, come on,” Robin says. He takes Glenn’s hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. Glenn doesn’t squeeze back. “She’s at least eighty. She shouldn’t have been driving, and her family said they’re gonna make sure she doesn’t anymore. It’s handled.”

“Then fuck them for not doing it sooner,” Glenn insists. Why is he the only one who’s mad about this? “You should take them to court or something.”

“Please stop,” Robin says, scrubbing at his face with his hand and wincing as he brushes against his bandaged cheek. ”Just put this on the long list of stuff you tune out, okay? It doesn’t need to be a big thing.”

“It is a big thing, and I’m allowed to get mad--” Glenn begins furiously.

“--then do it somewhere else,” Robin snaps, his voice a strange mixture of anger and misery. Glenn finally looks over at Robin. He’s expecting Robin to immediately backtrack and apologize, but instead Robin is turning away, pulling the blankets tightly around himself. 

”I’m sorry,” Robin mumbles, barely audible. “I need some space right now.”

“Fine.” Never let it be said that Glenn Close doesn’t know when he’s worn out his welcome. He slams the door as he stalks out of Robin’s bedroom and then stands in the hall for a second, clenching and unclenching his hands. Fuck, he was doing his best. This is exactly why he was just going to leave Robin alone, until Connor had to come _help._ Now Glenn’s crossed the line as usual, burned somebody out on him again like he always does.

How’d they go from _my husband_ to this? Is this the other side of the coin that comes out when Robin’s caught off guard? The side that doesn’t like Glenn very much and doesn’t bother to conceal it?

Glenn slams the door as he leaves Robin’s apartment, but his own place doesn’t feel like much of a refuge, either. He can’t settle on what he wants to do. He can sense the bad vibes coming through the wall like bass from a speaker. 

He needs to be somewhere else, but where? He doesn’t want to go to the Stampler house, Samantha knows his vibes way too well for Glenn to get away with not talking about all this. Oak house it is, then. Glenn doesn’t worry about texting first - on a weekend afternoon, somebody’s sure to be around. 


	34. Chapter 34

When Glenn pulls up to the Oak-Garcia(-Wilson-Bennetts-Fartblaster) place, his instincts are confirmed. Mercedes and Henry are both gardening in the yard. As a hobby, it makes no sense to Glenn. It’s like they don’t know you can just _buy_ flowers and vegetables without having to spend all your free time doing manual labor, but it seems to make them happy. They look up and wave as he parks, gets out, and ambles over to where they’re working.

Mercedes laughs as he approaches. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that to a fund drive shirt before.” 

“Huh?” Glenn looks down. God, this day has been so fucking long already that he forgot he was still in his gym clothes. Specifically, he’s in a shirt that says _I Know Stuff Because Of NPR,_ which was so soft that he stole it from Robin and cut it up into a workout shirt. Glenn shrugs and changes the subject. “Where’s your other third?”

“Darryl took the boys to soccer practice.” 

“Really?” Glenn has to think about that one. Did Nick not sign himself up for soccer this spring? Weird. 

Henry clears his throat to get Glenn’s attention. “Glenn, buddy, it’s always great to see you, but this is a little unexpected,” Henry says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Glenn says. “Just vibin.” He scuffs at the dirt with his boot idly. 

Henry looks nonplussed, but nods. “Well, would you like to help out?” 

“Nah, I think, uh…” Glenn catches Mercedes giving him a warning glare from behind Henry’s back. “For sure. Lead the way.”

Henry walks with him to a sunny patch of the yard. “Darryl wants to try growing his own hops,” he says with a smile. “All this grass has to go. And thank goodness, right?”

Glenn looks at Henry blankly. 

“Food, Not Lawns,” Henry says nonsensically, but his happy smile indicates that he thinks he’s explained himself, and Glenn just honestly doesn’t care, so he purses his lips and nods like he totally gets it.

“I was cutting the turf earlier,” Henry says, “but it’s pretty darn heavy _._ I could use a hand with ripping it up.”

Glenn perks up. This sounds satisfyingly destructive. Henry shows him how the lawn has been scored down to the dirt, and how they can just dig their fingers under the cut edge and roll a strip of turf up like carpet. It’s satisfying as hell hearing the little roots rip free of the dirt. Henry was telling the truth, it’s surprisingly heavy once you get a few feet rolled up together. Feels good, though.

The task keeps his body busy, but unfortunately Glenn’s mind starts to wander. He’s been done extremely dirty on this Saturday, obviously. Had to go to a fucking hospital. Had to sit through all that boring nurse talk. Had to get mindfreaked by that drugged up “husband” talk. Had to get unfairly vibe checked by Connor when he was just living his life. Had to get kicked out by his own... by Robin when he was just trying to be helpful. It’s an unjust, shitty world, and one of the more unjust things about it right now is that Glenn can’t figure out how to tell Henry about any piece of this in a way that’s gonna guarantee that Henry’s on _his_ side. Maybe Glenn should get himself hit by a car too, so he can even the playing field. He grabs another strip of turf in his hands and rips it out of the ground in one go, accompanied by an angry grunt. 

“Something you want to talk about, buddy?” Henry asks. 

“Nah, why?”

Ah shit, now Merc’s coming over too. This is the problem with friends. They know your tells. He can do this. Be vague. Be cool. 

“I slightly misread the vibe,” Glenn says. Okay, good. He’s owning his role in all this. Very responsible and mature of him. “Cuz he wasn’t feeling good, and I was gonna just leave him alone, but Connor yelled at me, so I went over there—“

”You're talking about Robin?” Henry cuts in. 

”Yeah, obviously. Anyway, I was just trying to help and he was like, ‘damn, you little psycho, calm the fuck down.’”   
  
“Robin said that?” Henry asks skeptically. 

“I mean not _out loud,”_ Glenn huffs. “But he definitely kicked me out.”

”What did he say, exactly?” Mercedes asks. 

“Uhhh...” Glenn replays the scene in his head. “He said he needed some space, and that’s when I left.”

“Ah.“ Mercedes and Henry exchange a glance, just right in front of him like he won’t notice. Glenn looks down and tries to brush the dirt off his hands. He mostly succeeds in getting his shorts dirty.

“If it were me,” Mercedes offers gently, “I'd just try to make sure that I was somewhere close enough that he could find me, but far enough away that he had some space, like he wanted. Then when he was ready, I could cuddle him and we'd do something low-stress. I could read to him from a book, maybe.”

Henry’s looking at her with heart eyes through this entire thing. It’s fucking contagious. A goddamn heart-eyes epidemic.

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Glenn reluctantly admits. “Do you want to drive separately, or...”

“No, you ridiculous ass,” Mercedes says. “ _You_ do that.”

Glenn throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh, it’s all my job, huh? I gotta fix this mess single-handed?”

His friends look taken aback, and it makes his hackles rise. “I mean, it’s his fault, when you think about it. He’s the one who let me steal his stupid lucky travel charm thing. He knows car accidents are, like... fuckin fraught territory for the Close boys, and he still doot-doot-dooted his giant flightless bird ass around town on his little bicycle until the inevitable finally happened, cuz this is fuckin LA.”

“Wait, _what_ happened?” Henry asks anxiously. 

“I got yelled at, Henry, that’s what happened. Keep up, man.” Glenn gives up trying to get his hands clean. “I’m thirsty.”

He walks away before they can react. There’s a thump from behind him, approximately where the big oak tree in the front yard stands, and then a familiar asthmatic huffing as someone scurries to catch up to him. Glenn waits with the front door open until Paeden reaches him and they can go inside together.

“Sup, my man,” Glenn says wearily. “Heard all that, huh?”

“Dad huddles happen at short notice sometimes,” Paeden says sagely. “I stay ready.”

“Hiding in a tree?”

”Mayhaps, my man. Mayhaps.”

Glenn lets that one slide as he searches the fridge for something to drink. Ah, fuck. Wherever Darryl’s keeping his brews these days, it isn’t here. He’s gonna have to drink water, like he’s a horse or something. 

“Listen, obviously you came to the right place. Fighting with your old man, huh?”

“Maybe.” Glenn finds the apple juice in the back of the fridge, fills up two sippy cups and screws the tops on. Paeden doesn’t like getting kid stuff if other people have the adult versions. But he’s also a fuckin klutz, so this is the less sticky option, long-term.

The two of them head out the back door and sit down. The front yard is all torn up right now, but the backyard is admittedly pretty, even to an indoors guy like Glenn. All flowers with different colors and such.

“I’ve seen him around. Paeden pays attention.” The kid gets that look on his face, the one he gets when he’s sizing up a potential opponent. “I think you could take him out if you really needed to, but you might want some backup. He’s a big fucker. Darryl could probably do it. Or I could do a sneak attack.”

“We’re not fighting like _that_ , man.” God. Glenn never really thought about Paeden’s weird fucked-up life until he had to see the little dude dressed in an Octonauts t-shirt. This is better, but man. Talk about culture shock. 

“We don’t…” Glenn fumbles, and comes up with one of the rules that Henry had painted onto the very wall of the house for “everyone” as a reminder. 

“We use gentle hands with people we love,” Glenn says. His instinct is to immediately cut the sappy Henry-speak with some joke about the times he and Robin _don’t_ use gentle hands, but he remembers he’s talking to Paeden. If Henry came over and painted rules on Glenn’s wall, _don’t work blue around the kids_ would probably be one of them. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Paeden grumbles. “Does he count?”

“What do you mean?”

“You love him and shit?”

Glenn exhales a long sigh. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Dang.” Paeden takes a swig from his juice like the world’s weariest cowboy with the whiskey that’s his only pal. “Sometimes it be like that, huh.” 

“Sometimes,” Glenn mumbles.

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Paeden mutters sympathetically. They sit in silence, interrupted by the rattle of the sliding glass door as Laserwolf squeezes through into the backyard. The old hound circles the entire perimeter a few times, pees, and lumbers back to where Glenn and Paeden are sitting. He collapses at their feet with a long-suffering sigh, and Glenn reaches down to give him a scratch. Laserwolf rolls partly onto his back and gives Glenn a mournful look that says _rub my belly forever; my life is very hard._

“Did you try using your words?” Paeden asks.

“I used… some words.” Glenn busies himself making much of Laserwolf, who’s emitting happy grumbles at the attention. 

“Uh-huh, okay,” Paeden seems determined to crack this one for Glenn. “Did you use your listening ears?”

Glenn rumples Laserwolf’s own ears and gives a sigh. “It’s more complicated than that, my man.”

“Well, if all else fails,” Paeden says thoughtfully, “get inside his reach so he can’t swing on ya with those big paws. Go for the soft underbelly. Get him on the ground, if you can. The ground’s your friend, man. Everybody’s the same height on the ground.”

Glenn’s automatically picturing it, but his mind’s eye twists the image from Robin looking up at him in defeat to Robin looking up at him from his hospital bed, befuddled but happy that Glenn’s there. Better not let Paeden know that Robin already went a round with a Chrysler LeBaron today, or the kid’s gonna get all kinds of carried away about how to exploit it.

“We gotta get you in some elementary school judo or some shit, man. Channel all this.”

Paeden scoffs. “Nah, nah. Once you’ve played the big leagues, you don’t go back to the minors.” He looks at his wrist, proudly adorned by the Spider-Man watch that Glenn got him last time they did Disney. Glenn’s 99% that Paeden still can’t tell time yet, but he never takes the thing off. “Listen, the guys are gonna get back from soccer soon. The ol’ P-man’s gonna get some cartoon time in while the getting is good, you dig me?”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Glenn says. He extends his fist and Paeden taps Glenn’s fist with his own before ambling back into the house.

Glenn automatically pulls out his phone and his heart sinks immediately. He’s missed several texts from Nick.

_where did u go_

_c says u were home when he left_

_u ok?_

_c says he’ll end you and your line please come back this isn’t how I wanna go out_

_dad u ok?_

Glenn starts to type something, but then he pauses. Fuck. _u ok?_ is not supposed to be this difficult to answer. But now Nick will have seen the typing dots. Shit shit shit.

Stupid sticky spiderweb strands pulling him back. Nick and Robin and Connor in one place, that’s not fair. That’s too much. But also, fuck, he _completely_ forgot about his “be there projecting chill reassurance when Nick gets home” plan. Flight instinct kicked in. At least Nick had Connor there explaining stuff on the drive home, and surely Nick’s seen Robin by now and understands that there’s nothing to worry about. There may be some small part of his brain that’s volunteering that leaving his parenting duties to fall on a 19-year-old (who’s probably going through it himself today) might be proof that he, Glenn Close, is the asshole in this situation. But on the other hand, he doesn’t remember asking that part of his brain a goddamn thing. 

His thumbs float over the phone’s keyboard indecisively. A lot of potential paths here, and as usual, Glenn’s a wildcard even to himself. _wanna bounce?_ would be his first instinct, but something tells him that Nick wouldn’t be on board with a surprise road trip right now. _something came up, my bad,_ is a very adaptable classic that he’s used on Nick more times that he’d like to admit to himself right now. _why aren’t you doing soccer this year?_ is of interest, but arguably not 100% on topic. Glenn huffs a frustrated breath, feeling like he’s somehow holding himself hostage at gunpoint right now. He quickly types and sends the message before he can think about it any more, because really, it’s the only message he can send:

_omw home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No gods no masters no anthonies, Paeden comes home with them or we riot. Walter is in the mix somehow. He’s fine.


	35. Chapter 35

Glenn has to compose himself for a moment before he walks into Robin’s apartment. He’s aiming for a neutral, casual vibe. Sort of a body language blank slate where the guys can see he’s taking it seriously enough that he doesn’t need to be yelled at, but not so seriously that they have to talk about it if they don’t want to. It’s a tricky needle to thread, especially given that he doesn’t know how mad each of them might be at this point. 

On the drive back, without his system completely flooded with adrenaline, Glenn was able to replay some of that discussion they had right before he took off. It’s a bit of a blur, but on review, he does have to admit that some of the stuff he was getting most mad about wasn’t anything Robin was actually saying. Which means, since all the worst stuff was really just in Glenn’s head, Robin is probably not waiting with a bouquet and an apology speech. 

Ah well. Time to face the music and wing it.

Inside the room are all three of his boys, sitting on the bed together. There’s a movie playing on the TV - looks like _The Princess Bride_ , the boys must have taken pity on Robin and let him pick for once. Connor is applying a coat of polish to the nails on Robin’s left hand, while Nick is holding his own hands over a towel in the slightly awkward posture of someone with a still-drying manicure. Robin has fully given up, apparently: he usually has a strict policy about wet nail polish on his bed. Glenn runs afoul of it often.

“Sup, fellas.” 

Nick flashes a big grin and Robin echoes it with a smaller, more apprehensive smile. Connor is giving Glenn the silent treatment, apparently, and doesn’t even look up. 

Nobody speaks. 

Shit. 

Glenn got conned into an acting class once - exactly _once_ \- by a guy he was trying to hook up with. He lingered long enough to hear all the students chant, cult-like: _99% of acting is reacting._ If Glenn had his preference, 99% of everything in life would be reacting. His instincts are good in the reaction, usually not so much in the initiation. When he bothers to read the room - and he’ll be the first to admit that he doesn't always do so - he can usually figure out what angle to work to get what he wants. 

This room, though, resists any straightforward reading, and Glenn’s not even sure what he wants here. That _flight_ instinct is trying to kick in again as he sees Connor’s furiously tense shoulders, sees Robin’s hesitant smile start to fall. And Nick... how Nick’s looking at him is somehow the worst of the three. Not because Nick’s angry, but because Nick’s worried. And why the hell shouldn’t he be? Glenn himself isn’t sure whether he’s gonna fuck this whole thing up for everybody - not today, not on any day. He never knows. _I’m scared too, kid._

The nearest space to sit down on the bed is next to Connor, so he does. The mattress dips and his elbow accidentally brushes against Connor’s leg. Connor pulls away immediately with an irritated grunt, and Glenn makes a mental note that this apology tour may be more of a marathon than a sprint. All right. Time to divide and conquer.

“Hey, cool dudes,” he starts awkwardly. Jesus, why didn’t he just say _howdy._ “I wanna talk to your… Robin and I are gonna talk.”

Nick looks cautiously optimistic and stands up, giving Glenn a splay-fingered high-five on his way past to avoid the nail polish devastation that a fistbump would cause. Connor, meanwhile, takes advantage of their changing sightlines to draw one finger across his throat slowly while keeping his eyes locked on Glenn’s as he leaves. His lips move silently as he closes the door: _You’re dead, Glem._

Okay. Bad. Bad, but a problem for future Glenn. Presently, he’s got one moderately injured, emotionally vulnerable giraffe to deal with. Glenn approaches cautiously, not making any sudden movements and trying not to jostle Robin’s ankle as he moves up the bed to sit beside him. He has to move the plastic tote where Nick keeps his nail polish collection out of the way. 

Glenn takes Robin’s hand carefully in his and examines it. “Nail polish, huh?”

“I’m not going into the office for a bit, and Nick’s been on my case about making the look a little less basic. And, as the boys so tactfully pointed out, I can’t outrun them right now.”

“Well, sure.” Glenn picks up the bottle that Connor was using and flips it over to check the shade’s name. “Ballet slippers?”

“I might have to work my way up to red or black.” 

“Hmm.” Glenn twists the bottle open again and takes Robin’s hand in his to do the second coat. Robin doesn’t automatically do that thing where you half-relax your hand so the other person can turn it this way and that as they paint. He’s probably never had his nails painted before, now that Glenn thinks about it. “I keep meaning to say it, but thanks for, y’know.”

“You’re welcome, probably? Give me a little more to go on than that,” Robin says cautiously. 

Glenn’s concentrating on trying to paint Robin’s nails without painting his whole fingertip, too. The dude keeps them so damn short. “Just, y'know. Playing in the gender space a little bit. Letting Nick give you all his TED talks and shit. He thinks about it a lot. He comes up with a lot of questions.”

“Oh, I know. He asked me how I knew I was a man. I’m _still_ thinking about that one.” Glenn smiles a little. Yeah, he had to hear Robin’s own long existential crisis about that one before he finally just told him _you don’t have to know how you know_ and cut off his access to weed for the rest of the night. 

“It makes me feel better that he has more guys around now. There’s other ways to be a dude than the way I do it, you know?” Glenn turns Robin’s hand to the side so he can reach the thumbnail. “I mean, it’s still flattering that he wanted to be like me. At that age I just wanted to be Brandon Lee in The Crow.”

“I’ve noticed the mini-twin thing has calmed down a bit, yeah. Is he smoking less, or is he just hiding it better?”

“Little bit of both,” Glenn shrugs. “I think he’s finding his groove at school, and I don’t think Merc or Sammie let him smoke at their places. I mean he’s still getting high before movie night usually, for sure.”

Robin sighs. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

There’s a long pause where Robin just watches Glenn put the finishing touches on his nails. 

“You’re doing your ‘make him fill the uncomfortable silence thing,’ huh?” Glenn asks. 

Robin shrugs and nods. Glenn gives him the tiniest glare, then gives up and puts the cap back on the nail polish bottle again. Okay. He can do this. He’s going in. “You know that gay cowboy movie that we saw?”

Robin frowns. _“Brokeback Mountain?”_

“No…”

Robin studies the ceiling, thinking. _“Night at the Museum? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”_

“No and no.” Glenn gestures in a way he hopes conveys his abstract impression of dust and gunfire and sweaty guys running around. “Val Kilmer was really pale and dying so he made his boyfriend leave.”

“Are you talking about _Tombstone?_ They—“ Robin stops himself with visible effort. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Please continue.”

Glenn picks a flake of polish off his own thumbnail. He could use a touch-up too. Sucks that he wasn’t here earlier. “The way I was brought up, that’s what you do. You get sick or hurt and you just kinda power through and kick ass until you can’t anymore, and then you send everybody away so they don’t have to see how gross and weird you get. And if you’re on the other side of it, you get outta there so people don’t feel bad about being gross and weird.”

Robin seems to need a long moment to take that information in. “I feel like we got different things out of that scene, but I see what you’re saying.”

“I felt like I was supposed to give you space, and then Connor said that was wrong, and I came in and made everything worse,” Glenn says haltingly. “Then _you_ said you needed space, but you didn’t seem that happy about it.”

“I was mad, yeah. You were being a pill. You kept insisting you needed to go assault a senior citizen.” Robin plucks moodily at the blanket that he’s pulled halfway over his legs. “I just wanted you to keep me company, maybe come up with something nice to make me feel better. I mean, I did get hit by a car today.” 

“Technically,” Glenn says, “Your bike got hit by a car. You got hit by the ground.”

Robin lifts his eyebrows in his _is this the hill you’re gonna die on right now?_ look that Glenn knows so well. Yeah, fair enough. 

“Slamming two doors might have been excessive,” Glenn concedes. “I was in a panic. You don’t usually get mad at me.” 

Robin raises his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I get mad at you all the time.” 

“You do?” 

“Just because I’m not yelling doesn’t mean I’m not mad,” Robin says. “It just means I don’t like to yell.”

“Well, I don’t like getting yelled at,” Glenn says. “At least we got that going for us.” He sighs. “But baby, if you don’t push back, how are you ever going to get what you want when I’m around?”

“Having you around _is_ what I want,” Robin says. 

Glenn gives him a reproachful look. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Robin says, but cuts himself off before he says anything else. Instead, he looks down and twists at the sheet in his hands. He’s trying to dial the emotions back again, Glenn can tell, but he’s going to smear nail polish everywhere in the process. Glenn reaches out and carefully takes Robin’s hands in his before he can ruin the sheets.

“You run,” Robin says, simply and sadly. “You bottle it all up and then you take off, and it scares the hell out of me. I’m always afraid you won’t come back.”

Glenn is stunned. “You think I’m gonna leave you?” His heart plummets as Robin doesn’t answer or look at him. “Oh, baby, seriously?” 

“If I didn’t, maybe I’d be able to let you fall asleep on the couch sometimes,” Robin says softly. He squeezes Glenn’s hand gently. “It’s not all the time, but I have moments. I mean, even when it’s not because you’re upset, you do tend to be elsewhere. Faerun. Tokyo and points beyond. Where’d you go today, anyway?”

“Oak-Garcias,” Glenn says with a shrug.

“Ooh, did you see the new puppy?” Robin asks, immediately distracted.

“Nah. Helped with some yard stuff. Chilled.”

Robin nods, perhaps a little disappointed. 

“I meant what I said though,” Glenn reluctantly insists. “I worry that I’m steamrolling you. I’m not, uh… naturally considerate.”

“I know,” Robin says easily, and Glenn nearly chokes in surprise. Robin laughs at his reaction. “Give me some credit, I’m smarter than I look.” He covers Glenn’s hand with his other hand reassuringly. “I know I have permanent rose-colored glasses on, but I don’t think I’ve ever had any serious illusions about who you are. Believe it or not, I actually like you more as I get to know you better.”

He opens his arms to invite Glenn in, and Glenn’s surprised to feel himself almost tearing up. It’s been a rollercoaster of a day, and not the good kind like he likes. He nestles in, his back to Robin’s front in that familiar way they have.

“If I were twenty years younger...” Robin muses, “I mean, I’ve always picked my battles, but particularly these days? Most stuff just feels like it’s not that important. I didn’t get into this relationship because I thought you seemed like someone who would never leave the bathmat soaking wet.”

“That’s the bathmat’s whole job,” Glenn protests. “I don’t dry myself off and _then_ step onto it. Who’s even working for who at that point?”

Robin takes a indignant breath, fully prepared to relitigate that one before he catches himself. “My point is, I don’t ask a lot these days, and I’m having much more fun that way.”

“Are you saying you have low standards?” Glenn demands.

“That’s not what I meant—“

“Because it would honestly help,” Glenn adds. “Really takes the pressure off. Where’s the bar at, baby? Lay it on me.”

Robin moves to wrap his arms around Glenn protectively. “You really want me to…”

“Yeah, man, give me the terms and conditions. What’s your vision here, spell it out.”

“Christ, I wasn’t ready for this. Uh. Okay. Don’t lie to me about important stuff. Try not to disappear for a long time without telling me where you went, that always really worries me.” Robin takes another moment to consider. “If we fight, come home eventually so we can talk it out. Really, just be around and try to be honest with me. Everything else we can probably figure out.”

“Hmm.” Glenn gives this due consideration. “How am I doing at that, would you say?”

“Today?”

“Let’s say, in general.”

“Oh.” Robin contemplates this. “Pretty well, mostly. Sometimes when you talk to me - about Faerun stuff, especially - I can tell that there’s stuff you’re cutting out as you go. I don’t want to push you, but I hope maybe someday you’ll feel ready to tell me.”

Half a dozen moments spring to mind at once for Glenn, none of them featuring him at his best and all of them ready to set his heart racing if he thinks about them for too long. Some of the choices he made on the far side of the portal… he can’t ever imagine feeling ready to disclose them to Robin. To anyone who wasn’t there, really, because they couldn’t truly understand. There aren’t a lot of Faerun moments he looks back on and thinks, _now there’s a guy who deserves to come home to Robin._ If he ever starts to forgive himself, then maybe he’ll consider giving somebody else the chance to do it. 

But not everything he clips out of his Faerun tales is that bad. Some of it’s just things that are confusing, or things he thinks will upset Robin specifically. (He’s always just skipped _straight_ past the whole Gartok debacle.) One particular edit has been pestering him more and more since his last trip out to Orchard Hill. He lets himself notice how he moves gently with the rise and fall of Robin’s chest as he breathes and brings his own breath into the same cycle. It’s calming. 

“I don’t wanna derail everything,” Glenn says slowly. “But remind me to tell you about the phone call from Morgan when things have settled down a bit.”

“Sorry, _what?”_

“Long story. Not right now. But I promise I’ll fill you in soon. Tonight, even.”

Robin has to take a long moment for that one. A long, long moment. He finally unfreezes, relaxes, and sighs. “This year hasn’t been boring, I’ll certainly give you that.

“Has it been a year?”

“I mean, it depends on what you count from,” Robin says. “First date? A month later? And don’t bring up what we did _before_ the first date, because it doesn’t count when you didn’t know my name.”

“It’s been more than 12 months since that for me, anyway,” Glenn points out. “Because of the whole ‘weekend for you, way longer for me’ portal thing.”

Robin sounds distressed. “I didn’t do anything for you to celebrate.” 

Glenn laughs. “Yeah, Penny’s mentioned how good you are at remembering anniversaries, and then there’s _my_ brain, so I think we’re better off not trying to remember two dates. Even if we could do the math on Faerun to Earth days.”

“But what’s even the _one_ date?” Robin frets. 

Glenn shifts into his side so he can see Robin’s face again. “I mean we got together in, like, what... late spring? Early summer? Let’s just pick something we can remember, who cares. I just want the excuse to spoil each other.” 

“Yeah?” Robin’s looking soft as hell. “April something?”

Glenn’s eyes widen in excitement. “April twentieth?”

”No, no, no,” Robin is laughing as he shakes his head. “I don’t care if you can prove that was the exact day, nobody’s going to believe us. Not gonna fly.”

“Okay, too obvious,” Glenn concedes. “It was worth a shot.”

“Anyway, if we pick something that soon, I don’t have any time to plan something for us. Maybe a little trip, what do you think?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Glenn says with unfeigned enthusiasm. “May? Or I guess, June? Early June at the latest, final offer.”

“I could—“ Robin begins, but then Glenn has the best idea of his life.

“June 9th,” he blurts out.

Robin gives him a puzzled look that then becomes an amused one. 

”Just think about it,” Glenn insists confidently. “Don’t veto it yet.”

With a resigned shrug, Robin ruffles Glenn’s hair and bends down to kiss the top of his head. Glenn sighs. “Is it too late to do the thing where I hang out with you and treat you nice?”

“Nah, go for it,” Robin says. “Take a mulligan.”

“Okay,” Glenn says. “Starting over. Take two.” He takes a deep breath and says the words with great care. “I’m sorry.”

Ah, damn, he can immediately tell that was more than Robin was expecting. Glenn tucks himself along Robin’s body and gives him a little tickle under the ribs to disrupt the impending waterworks. Robin yelps in response and grabs Glenn’s hand. Feels like his nail polish is finally dry. “Don’t get used to hearing that,” Glenn warns him. “That might be an annual event.”

“I’ll still take it.”   
  
“Damn right.” Glenn smirks. He lifts his head to study Robin’s face. “So,” he adds, his thumb moving slowly along Robin’s wrist. “Makeup sex?”

Robin laughs. “Right now? Not a chance in hell.”   
  
“Fair enough,” Glenn says. He nestles in and lets his head rest on Robin’s chest again. “We can watch your movie.”

“I’d like that,” Robin says. He rubs Glenn’s back in gentle circles. “Thanks for coming home.”

”You're my home,” Glenn says quietly. “Now shut up, I’m watching this.”


	36. Chapter 36

**_Nick_ **

Nick and Connor honestly don’t talk all that much about the fact that their dads are, y’know, _together._ Neither of them have an issue with it, it’s just not very interesting. That seems pretty normal to Nick. Nobody their age worries too terribly much about what parent-aged people are doing, unless it’s making life harder. 

Like Grant, for instance. Poor bastard barely got back from Faerun before his parents were splitting up and he was starting an allegedly temporary stay with his dad at the Oak-Garcia place. A year later and it’s a permanent arrangement, and based on the proportion of time he complains about each aspect of his new situation, Grant’s about 50% fed up with living with so many people and 50% exhausted by trying to split his time and energy between his mom’s place and his dad’s. Connor’s probably spent more time in the group chat with Grant and Nick, passing along divorce-kid advice, than he and Nick have spent discussing their own changing circumstances. 

And it’s not like things have changed _that_ much for Nick. He’s been wandering back and forth between his place and next door for years. There haven’t been any last-minute additions to the cast of people he sees every day, they’re just kinda hanging out in different combinations than before. If he’s being honest? The most disruptive thing about this year wasn’t his dad and Robin getting together, it was Connor leaving for college. It’s good to have him back right now, even if it took Robin getting a _little_ bit hit by a car for it to happen. 

First, Connor had wanted to rant. He’s more or less the only one that Nick lets talk shit about Glenn like this, because he’s more or less the only one who Nick will talk shit about Glenn to. Adults don’t know what to say when he mentions things his dad does that he doesn’t like - they tend to change the subject, caught between acknowledging the bad stuff and staying out of another adult's business. Kids his age don’t know what to do, because who can explain why parents are the way they are? Let alone change them?

Connor’s somewhere in between a kid and an adult, and he’s never cared about staying out of Glenn’s business, and most importantly, he actually likes Glenn. That’s the thing that makes it okay for him to hear Nick admit when Glenn fucks up. That’s the thing that made it okay for Connor to vent all his hurt earlier, with that devastating turn of phrase that Nick always thought of as a Connor thing until he met Penny and realized where Connor got it.

The two of them are just chilling in Connor’s old room right now. Nick’s sprawled on Connor’s bed with his Nintendo Switch. Connor’s lying flat on the floor, his legs slung up onto the bed so his feet are next to Nick’s head. His left foot is jiggling rapidly, and has been since they settled into this holding pattern an hour or so ago after Glenn got home. 

For the last twenty minutes or so, though, Connor’s been dangerously quiet. He’s scribbling something in a spiral notebook with a ballpoint pen, pushing so hard he’s likely to tear the paper. Every so often he hisses in irritation and crosses something out, or makes a satisfied hum. Nick doesn’t know what he’s writing, but knowing Connor, it’s probably not good news for Glenn. 

There’s a hesitant tap from outside, and the boys glance at each other. Nick gets up from the bed and opens the door, revealing an apprehensive-looking Glenn. Everyone just stares at each other for a minute before Glenn speaks: “So, are you gonna kill me?”  
  
“Haven’t decided,” Connor mutters. He’s finishing up his writing, so Glenn turns the desk chair around so he can sit down with them. 

Nick sits down on the bed next to Connor and makes eye contact with his dad for a second. He tilts his head vaguely in the direction of Robin’s room and lifts his eyebrows. Glenn nods and gives him a thumbs-up. So they’re good. That’s good.

"I have a list of demands," Connor says finally. He tears the page out of the spiral notebook and hands it to Glenn, then sits back with his arms folded. 

Glenn studies the list, his expression going from intrigued to displeased to outright pissed. “This is unreasonable,” he objects. “You can’t expect me to fix this much stuff at the same time.”

“Sucks to suck,” Connor replies, unperturbed, snatching the list back. “Next time don’t fuck up so many things at the same time.” 

“Come on, Connor,” Nick interjects. He doesn't even know what's on the list, but... “You gotta give him a bar he can actually clear.” 

Glenn and Connor both turn toward Nick, startled that he’s suddenly speaking up. Nick’s heart jumps into his throat at suddenly having their full attention. He nearly backtracks, but no, he gets a say here, too, no matter how nervous the whole argument is making him. 

“A bar he can actually clear?” Connor raises an eyebrow. “You’re saying I should lower my expectations?” Connor studies Nick’s face for a moment and unfolds his arms. “What do you think is fair, Nicholas? Because at this rate, he’ll be a functional adult by the time you retire.” 

“I… I guess I don’t know.” Nick looks down, avoiding eye contact by staring into the darkness under Connor’s bed. Mr Lion is under there in a clear plastic box, along with some other stuffed animals. Even when Nick first met Connor, the stuffed animals were already banished underneath the bed instead of on top of it. But over the years, Connor’s never thrown them away. 

It’s funny - he thought Connor was so grown-up when they met, but the guy was only 16 when the Wrights moved in next door. He wasn’t much older by the time he was over at the Close place almost every day, helping Nick with homework or cleaning questionable leftovers out of the fridge. It didn’t strike Nick as weird at the time, It was just another thing about his life that wasn’t like anybody else’s. He never questioned what was in it for Connor. Back then, Nick didn’t even realize how lonely he himself was - he wouldn't have figured out why a kid whose parents had just gotten divorced might want to come over to the chaotic Close apartment to get away from the quiet in his own home.

“Here’s an extremely fair one,” Connor says, having studied the list carefully. “Because there's not a single good reason you can give me that it needs to be happening. No more weed for Nick, period.”

Nick and Glenn both object instantly, their sounds of protest overlapping. 

“No, shut up, I’m not done.” Connor stabs his index finger toward Glenn, his bitten-down nail only inches from Glenn’s face. “You lock your shit up from now on, and you don’t tell him the code. You don’t give him any; if he gets his hands on some anyway, you ground his ass. If you and Dad between the two of you can’t find your collective brain cell and figure out how grounding works, you call me.”

“Connor, why?” Nick blurts out. 

“Because it’s not good for you, dude, your brain isn’t done cooking.” 

“One semester of college and he’s a fucking neurosurgeon now,” Glenn sniffs. “You smoked weed all the time when you were his age! You were my damn _dealer.”_

“Oh, please,” Connor says, rolling his eyes. “I refilled your stash boxes and added it to your bill. Mostly with secondhand legal shit, might I add, because you haven’t needed a dealer in California for like, five years. I was a delivery boy at best. I stocked your fridge with groceries sometimes too, that doesn’t make me your personal chef.”

“You used to like me calling you my dealer,” Glenn says with a frown. 

“I was a dumbass 16 year old, and I wanted you to think I was cool. And now Nick thinks I’m a hypocrite when I tell him not to smoke.” Connor looks despairingly at Nick. “Dude, I just fuckin learned better. I don’t know why a guy twice my age hasn’t figured it out.” 

“But you turned out fine, man,” Glenn protests. “You were the nerd king at graduation, I was there!”

“Just because I got away with it, that doesn’t make it safe. I coulda really screwed myself over if I’d been busted.” Connor scrubs at his face with his hands, looking worn down. “And you would have been screwed, too. If they’d caught me carrying your weed? If they found out you let Nick have it? Minimum sentence of three years, dude. Maximum seven. And if you go to prison, Nick goes into foster care. Dad and I don’t have any legal claim on him at all. We’re just the neighbors.”

Nick’s stomach turns to ice water. He’d never considered that, not even after Meth Bay. Glenn always just shrugged and said _weed is legal._ He never said that them sharing a joint could lead to something like that.

“I don’t remember asking you for advice,” Glenn says coldly. “And I don’t have to justify myself to you, or explain the way I parent my kid. To anyone.”

“I’m not telling you how to parent _your kid,”_ Connor snaps. “I’m telling you how to parent _my_ _brother."_ _  
__  
_That stuns both of them into silence for a moment. Nick stares at the floor. He feels like his breathing is too loud in this hangtime before the yelling starts again. He’s seen this plenty of times. His dad really does, deep down, hope that he’s a good person. The problem is that he’s very afraid he isn’t - so afraid that anyone who makes him think about it too much isn’t allowed to stick around. Girlfriend, bandmate, landlord, friend. Doesn’t matter. Glenn cuts the person out of his life, moves on, acts like his only mistake was letting them think he cared what they thought.

 _There’s a lot of people out there just looking for an excuse to get mad,_ Glenn explains, each time a little more flat, a little more tired of the litany. _You know I’d step in if I saw you were actually getting hurt, right? You’re mature enough to handle some risks. I was way less supervised and nothing too terrible happened to me._

Nick’s eyes prickle in that warning way. He’s closer to crying than he would like to be, his face hot and tense. As he tries to settle down with a deep breath, he sees Connor do the same thing, and something clicks. This whole time, Nick’s been trying to figure out why Glenn fucking up has somehow led to Connor concluding that Nick should have less freedom, but Connor’s mirror of his own sigh brings it into sharp relief: Connor is very angry right now because it’s better than being very scared. Nick could tell him from experience, it’s not actually a trade. All getting mad does is let you put off crying until you’re not around the people who made you sad anymore, so they don’t know that they got under your skin. But in Nick’s opinion, Glenn needs to know that he got under Connor’s skin this time.

Nick clears his throat. “Hey. Guys.”

Glenn turns, and Connor’s head lifts up to look at him. 

“I’m gonna quit smoking weed.”

It’s nice to be the one catching them off guard for a change. Connor looks so surprised that he almost seems angry, and Glenn goes completely blank in that way he does when he isn’t sure how to play his reaction.

“Not forever,” Nick hastens to add. “Maybe like… until the end of the school year, at least. Then I’ll see what I wanna do.” That’s only a few months, he can handle that. His grades could use the boost, anyway. 

“Just to prove you can?” Glenn asks warily. 

“Sure, that too,” Nick shrugs. “And because I’m sick of everybody arguing about it.” He looks at Glenn. “It’s bullshit, Dad. If you trust Robin enough to watch me while you’re on tour, you can’t just tell him to stay out of it when he tries to parent me. He doesn’t _only_ know what he’s talking about when he’s agreeing with you, you know?”

“Dude, you don’t have to keep them from fighting,” Connor cuts in. “That’s not your job.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s getting old, and you all keep using it so you don’t have to talk about what’s really bothering you.” Nick nods toward the door. “How did Robin getting hit by a car and Dad lapsing back into full asshole mode for a couple hours turn into a thing about me smoking?”

Connor and Glenn glance guiltily at each other. There's a tense silence, but Connor is the first to crack. 

“Because I need you all to look out for each other when I’m not here,” Connor mumbles. “You guys have to look after my dad. I know he looks after you. And the adults are supposed to handle shit so that Nick and I can focus on our stuff." 

"What stuff?" Glenn asks, seemingly genuinely curious. "What do you want to do with your time? What am I messing with, with my apparently infinite fuck-ups?"  
  
"I want to _be nineteen,"_ Connor replies testily. "I want to worry about the biology final that I have on Friday and not whether I'm going to have to drop everything and explain to you how to function as a person in a family.” Connor looks down at the list in his hand and crumples it up decisively. “I’m never gonna be able to come up with a set of rules that can prevent every stupid thing you could come up with, we both know that. I need you to actually try to be an adult, to be a dad. Not just change a couple easy things and expect me to count that as close enough. You have to keep trying, every day."  
  
Glenn gives Connor a long, thoughtful look, but doesn't speak.  
  
"I know you, man," Connor says. "You're a disaster, but if it's important, you make it happen. So is this important? Are you gonna step up?"

“You sound like Ron,” Glenn jokes weakly. 

Connor glares.

“Fine, yeah, I get it.” Glenn exhales slowly, rubs at his mouth, then looks up and makes deliberate eye contact with Connor. “I’m taking this seriously. I will step up. I will probably fuck up again, let's be real. But I will actually try to do the parent thing. To be a dad. I'll keep trying, every day." 

Connor stares Glenn down. Glenn stares Connor right back. The standoff between them is so tense that Nick expects to hear a music sting or something. He tries not to anxiously pick at his freshly touched-up nail polish.

Finally, Connor sits back with a curt nod of his head. “Okay. You get another chance. But you break his heart—“ and he points toward Robin’s room, “or you break _his_ heart—“ as he points at Nick, “or _my_ heart—”

“And you’ll break my neck,” Glenn says approvingly. “I see what you did there. Taking it all the way back. Original Fast and the Furious.” 

He extends his hand for a high-five, but Connor doesn’t move. He frowns at Glenn. “Acknowledge my threat, please.”

“Your threat is heard, understood, and acknowledged,” Glenn pledges. That earns him the high-five he’s been waiting for from Connor. Connor turns to Nick and offers him a high-five as well, but Nick’s not here for that bro shit. He lunges forward and pulls Connor into a tight hug, and he doesn’t let go for a long time, until he feels Connor let out the breath he's been holding in too long. If, after the hug, Connor swipes the sleeve of his hoodie under his eyes, well... nobody draws attention to it.  
  
Connor sniffs, sits up straighter, pushes his hair out of his face. That confident set to his shoulders has reappeared as he looks over at Glenn. "How's Dad doing?”

“Pretty good. We finished the movie, he finally fell asleep again,” Glenn says. “I was thinking about making some cookies for him, try to dig myself out of this hole a little bit. You guys wanna help?"   
  
"What kind of cookies?" Connor asks.   
  
"His favorite, obviously," Glenn says cockily. "Chocolate chip."

"That's not his actual favorite," Nick cuts in. "He just says that because that's your favorite and he's whipped. That's not what he gets when he picks them out for himself."

For the second time today, he's startled both Glenn and Connor into speechlessness. The _power_ of it. It's like they forget he's been around this year more than either of them. "What? I pay attention."

"Oh God, tell me it's not oatmeal raisin," Connor says, brows knitting in distress.  
  
"The narc of cookies," Glenn adds solemnly. "It would track."  
  
"He likes monster cookies," Nick says with a roll of his eyes. "I mean, I guess there's oatmeal, but there's chocolate chips and M&Ms. They're good."

Connor looks skeptical, but Glenn nods. "I can do monster cookies. Does that also count as a dad thing, if you guys bake with me?" He hesitates. "I mean, I know I'm not your dad, Connor--"  
  
"No, I know," Connor says. "But you're family. Don't even trip."  
  
"Okay." Glenn raises his eyebrows. "So, do I get double points for baking cookies? Boyfriend _and_ dad points?"   
  
"Depends on how the cookies turn out," Nick says with a smile. "Are you gonna try to put your own spin on it, or are you gonna follow the recipe for once?"   
  
Glenn's already shaking his head as he stands up to leave the room. "Why bother doing it the same way as everybody else?"  
  
"Because they know what they're talking about?" Nick offers.   
  
"Sometimes," Connor intones solemnly. "Things that are Glem's ideas... are worse."  
  
Nick hops down from the bed and follows his dad toward the kitchen. Now that the panic is receding, he's slowly realizing that he did just promise to quit smoking weed for a while. As a mic drop, it was top tier. As a thing he's gonna actually have to do, less fun. But there are advantages, too - maybe he'll actually quit falling asleep during movie nights. Have a little more fun money left for other stuff. And most importantly, he can go back to not thinking about his dad's whole _relationship_ situation or whatever. At least until the day that Robin actually _does_ ask his permission to propose to Glenn - and that's a future Nick problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god conflict? resolving it? miss me with that shit from now on, good vibes only after this


	37. Chapter 37

**_Robin_ **

The fact that they can’t agree when their anniversary precisely even  _ is  _ doesn’t stop Robin from making plans for them to have a weekend away together. Glenn is a delight to spoil rotten, and his weekends are starting to book up again with shows - although he’s promised to let Robin and Nick book some of his weekends in advance, too.

The campsite, when they arrive, is better than the pictures. Glenn stalks around the site with a mixture of incredulity and shock. “This isn’t camping, this is… glamping. Fuck you for making me say that word, by the way.”

Robin smiles. “I’m not sleeping on the ground with you. My knees can’t take it.” 

Glenn pulls aside the flap of the tent. “Oh shit, there’s a real bed, and chairs, and a carpet. This is  _ luxe _ .” He disappears inside as Robin gets their bags out of the trunk. When Robin enters the tent, Glenn’s sprawled across the bed and playing with the tassels on one of the pillows. 

“So what are we doing?” Glenn asks. 

“Back down the way, there’s a roadhouse place that’s supposed to have good music,” Robin says. “We can hike it or drive, whichever.”

"Can you make it that far, with your ankle?"  
  
Robin nods. It's been most of two months, and recovery wasn't bad at all. "It'll be a little stiff at first, but once I get warmed up I'm fine." 

Glenn jumps up. “Then hike it, definitely. Let’s go.”

The roadhouse lives up to the hype and they enjoy a good meal and a good show. The sun is setting as they start the hike back, and the effect in the desert is otherworldly: long purple shadows and streaks of orange light.

The air cools down rapidly by the time they return. Glenn, the barely closeted pyromaniac, gets a fire going in the firepit while Robin rounds up blankets. There are lawn chairs, but Robin opts to spread a thick blanket on the ground nearer the firepit, in front of a fallen log that makes a nice backrest. 

Glenn’s got the fire banked up nicely now and is getting a joint lit while he texts Nick goodnight. When he’s done, he flops down in front of Robin on the blanket, leaning back onto his chest. Robin covers them both with another blanket. Between the fire and their body heat, they have a comfortable little oasis of warmth in the chilly night. They watch the flames in silence.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” Glenn says at last. “I have no idea how to pay you back.”

Robin has learned better than to get defensive about statements like that. “I’m having a nice time,” he says. “This isn’t a favor, I just enjoy being here with you.”

Glenn hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess you do.” He exhales smoke and points at the sky. “Look at that, baby. That’s what we came for.”

Robin tips his head back to take in the dome of stars all around them. He’s truly never seen the sky like this. There are layers to the stars, clusters and streaks of them, with tints of blue and purple in the darkness between.

On some level, Robin’s always thought of the sky as the roof of the world. Tonight he realizes there is no roof at all. He’s looking straight into space. Worlds out there farther away than he can imagine, and nothing between them and him but a vast abyss. Suddenly the Earth seems like a very insubstantial thing to hold its own against all that emptiness.

“Was it like this… there?” Robin asks cautiously. 

Glenn considers this, nods. “More or less. More forests. I mean, they probably have deserts or whatever too, just not where I was. But the night sky, yeah. That’s when I was like... I wish Robin could see this.”

The longer Robin looks, the harder it is to take in the dizzying sweep of the stars. Instead he just watches the fire and grounds himself with the solid weight of Glenn against his body. 

It’s frightening to be talking about Faerun with Glenn. He’s always felt that adventure came too close to going another way, like things could have worked out for the worst and he might not have gotten Glenn back in one piece. Or at all. His arms close a little tighter around Glenn’s body and Glenn wriggles back onto him comfortably. 

“I should have written it all down,” Glenn says thoughtfully. “I didn’t think I’d ever forget any of it, but some of it’s kind of fading out.” 

He slips his hand out of the blanket and turns it back and forth in the firelight. “There was like, specific muscle memory for the magic shit, and I don’t know if I’m remembering it right anymore. Obviously there’s no way to find out on this side, so…” he shrugs. “I’ll live with not knowing, I guess.” He tucks his hand back inside the blanket. 

It’s not a question Robin’s really thought about before, but something in how Glenn was talking just now made him wonder. “Would you ever want to go back? If you could, I mean?”

Glenn takes a very long time to think about that one, and Robin finds himself counting the breaths as he waits silently. 

“Maybe,” Glenn finally says. “If Nick was safe, if I could just go chill, instead of getting dragged into some high stakes shit every other day. Maybe even if it was gonna be that crazy again. It was kind of exciting, honestly. Terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but…” He shakes his head, at a loss. “I can’t explain it, but I do kinda miss it sometimes. I’ll dream that I’m there, and in the dream it’s all intense and shit, and then I wake up, and I kind of hope when I fall back asleep I’ll go back into the same dream. Even though it was scary. Does that make any sense?”

“I think so,” Robin says quietly.

Glenn is still thinking it through. He’s a guy who always wants details before he can properly answer a hypothetical question. “Yeah, if they got a portal going that was just like, a door you could walk back and forth through, I’d at least think about it.” He leans forward to toss another handful of kindling into the fire, then settles back in under the blankets. “If I went, would you go with me?"

“Of course,” Robin says. “Anywhere.” 

Glenn makes a pleased, quiet sound. It’s gotten a little too real with the emotions, though, so naturally... “Sure you’re not just in it for the orgy pit?”

Robin pretends to think it over. “Well, not  _ just  _ for the orgy pit, no.” He ruffles Glenn’s hair affectionately and Glenn bats his hand away. 

Robin leans his head forward to bury his nose in the back of Glenn’s hair. There’s the smoke of the campfire, sweat, the perpetual tinge of burned cannabis. A whiff of black pepper and patchouli from the very specific brand of hair products that Glenn is fiercely loyal to. Robin uses one finger to move the hair away from the back of Glenn’s neck and press a gentle kiss at the nape. Glenn shivers and tilts his head, baring the side of his neck wordlessly. He’s cold whenever he isn’t covered by the blanket, and Robin almost feels as though he’s breathing life back into him with the heat he shares every time he touches his warm mouth to the cool skin. 

Before long, Glenn’s slow breathing starts to pick up and he’s twisting, turning around so he can kiss Robin deeply. It’s a hungry kiss, but not hurried. A kiss that’s given the attention it deserves as an end in itself. When Glenn at last pulls back from the kiss, he looks almost distant. Glenn’s mind went somewhere else for a minute there, and now he’s back.

“You with me?“ Robin asks gently as he brushes the hair out of Glenn’s face. Glenn studies Robin’s face in the starlight and nods. “Should we head to the tent?”

“No,” Glenn says. “Let’s stay right here. I want you under these stars with me.”


	38. Chapter 38

Glenn wakes up in the middle of the night, sits up in the deep darkness of the tent, and listens alertly. He needs a minute to remember where he is and figure out whether he’s under attack. The desert around them has its own unfamiliar noises, but no, there’s nothing in the tent with them, nothing circling the campground. 

Robin stirs next to him and makes a small sound of distress. That’s probably what woke Glenn in the first place. He puts his hand out in the darkness and touches Robin’s chest. His heart is beating surprisingly hard and fast. Robin’s hand suddenly grabs Glenn’s arm, as though reassuring himself that Glenn’s still there.

“Bad dream, baby?” Glenn asks. Robin doesn’t answer at first, then mumbles something that Glenn can’t make out. The long silent pause makes Glenn pretty sure that Robin’s not even awake. Just as Glenn’s about to roll over and try to go to sleep, Robin starts sleep-talking again.

“Your eyes never change,” Robin says thickly. Glenn isn’t sure whether to respond or not. He sounds kind of sad and distant. “They never change,” Robin adds, suddenly insistent. “In all the lives I knew you.”

“Okay?” 

“All of them,” Robin repeats firmly.

“That’s good?” Glenn ventures. Robin doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. Apparently he’s delivered his message and is dreaming quietly, whereas Glenn is miles away from sleep now. 

Normally, Glenn’s the rowdy sleeper. He’s still not great about sharing a bed without taking his half down the middle and defending his territory with force. Robin occasionally talks in his sleep at home, but usually nothing so coherent or mystical - just vague alarming statements about somebody coming to steal their energy or something, which he has no memory of in the morning. 

This would be as ignorable as ever if they weren’t in such a weird setting. As homelike as the tent is, it’s still a canvas bubble that a knife or a claw could tear through like paper. Hard to defend, especially since they don’t have weapons. No way to call for any help that could arrive in time. 

Fuck, why is he thinking about this kind of thing right now? Every channel in his brain is having a horror marathon, and as soon as he banishes one unsettling image, another pops up. The Library’s freaky chainsaw tongue. A motorcycle accident he saw on the freeway one time. That guy hanging through the pub window with his head blown off. The power drill kills in _ Slumber Party Massacre _ , which somehow stamped themselves permanently on his nine-year-old mind. 

He untangles himself from Robin and the covers and goes to stand outside so he can try to settle down. The cold air wakes him the rest of the way up, and he shivers. Nothing is actually happening. Sometimes brains just don’t do well bunking down somewhere unfamiliar, and his particular brand of excessive vigilance got set off by being awake this late. He just needs his fight-or-flight response to figure that out and he’ll be fine. He’ll think about other stuff instead, like whatever the hell Robin was saying.   
  
Glenn leans skeptical on the whole past lives thing. He’s never encountered any compelling evidence. Still, even if Robin’s outburst was just random neural firings, it’s nice to know Glenn’s on his mind even when Robin is out cold and snoring.

Glenn contemplates calling Nick for a second before he thinks better of it. He’s probably asleep, or being ridiculous with his friends. Either way, he’s fine and happy and well-looked after. They’ll see him the day after tomorrow. He’s not missing or lost or stolen. It’s all okay. 

There’s a light wind rustling the trees around the campsite, and for a second Glenn thinks he can hear coyotes yipping in the distance. He strains to hear them again, but the wind has moved and there are sounds coming from much closer, inside the tent. Robin is stirring and getting up. Glenn waits outside, knowing he’ll be found shortly.

When Robin does exit the tent, he blinks at the night sky and the brilliant stars for a moment before focusing on Glenn next to him. He immediately takes Glenn into his arms, and Glenn leans in gratefully. This isn’t the first time that Robin’s woken up when Glenn is having a late night crisis, and it won’t be the last. Robin’s body is still warm from the bed and he smells like his familiar Robin smell, like paper and woodsmoke and cedar. 

They simply stand together for a time, and Glenn finds his breathing adjusting to match Robin’s slower pace. It doesn’t really make a lot of sense how much better he feels, and how fast. Robin’s not exactly standing there with sword in hand, ready to slay all evils of this world and the next; he doesn’t even send his food back when the order is wrong. But for whatever reason, Glenn feels like he’s got some backup now in his fight, and it helps. He’s not handling this all alone this time. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “When we get back, you wanna look for a place?”

“What do you mean?” Robin asks through a yawn. 

“Like a place together.”

“Oh.” Robin’s arms pull Glenn in a little closer. “Yeah, let’s do it.” He thinks for a quiet moment. “It’d have to have space for your recording studio.”

“And closer to your work,” Glenn responds. “So you can get home sooner, and sleep in more.” 

“I like that.” Robin nuzzles the back of Glenn’s head. His nose is cold from the night air. “You think Nick’s going to be good with it? I don’t want to rush him.”

“It’s been over a year, baby. Any time you go back next door, he starts wandering around looking for where you went. But we’ll talk to him about it.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Despite it being his idea, Glenn’s cynical brain is reminding him of all the issues that’ll become inevitable when they’re all in one place, all the arguments that have been deferred by their odd arrangement. Whether beds are a sacred space only for sleeping and sex, or a perfectly good place to hang out all day even if that means brushing off the crumbs and ash and guitar picks before you go to sleep. Whether people who need to shower before school and work get priority in the bathroom over someone who’d like to get high in a nice long bath. Whether throwing out food that’s past its expiration date is necessary, or just a way to substitute government rules for your own judgment.

There are other images too, though. A big kitchen, with a bar where people can sit and talk to whoever’s cooking. High ceilings, airy, good light. Some kind of set-up where he can play and record without being cut off from everybody else. Somewhere for Connor to sleep when he’s back from college - maybe it can be a study space for Nick, the rest of the time, or even better, a gaming room. A new bed, one of those ridiculous oversized ones. Definitely gotta have a big common area so the whole crew can come over at once, the apartments have never been quite enough to simultaneously host Stamplers, Wilsons, Oak-Garcias, and… whatever his guys are. The Close and Wright boys. 

Glenn turns around, pressing his face into Robin’s chest for a second before steering him back inside the tent. It’s cold, it’s late. They should be sleeping. He doesn’t want to be wiped out for the stuff they’ve got lined up for tomorrow. They’ve got another day on their trip, and Glenn’s looking forward to it, but now he’s also looking forward to getting back and starting the search. It’ll be good to be home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home stretch!
> 
> "Your eyes never change in all the lives I've known you" was in a tumblr post I saw once about weird things people have heard others say in their sleep.


	39. Chapter 39

On a night when Glenn goes to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour, the last thing he wants is to be woken up. He did his _job,_ dammit, the world should reward him with sleep if he shows up on time. 

He unfurls himself from the covers to blink wearily at the clock, hoping that it’s at least morning-adjacent, and lets out a groan when he just barely makes out the three. He freezes, though, when he realizes he hears noise. Not normal noise, of motorcycles going too fast for no reason or a distant cop car. That would be too easy. But unless his home is being haunted by David Bowie circa the mid 1980s, he can tell Nick is watching TV in the living room because he’s awake. That doesn’t sit right with Glenn. 

Glenn has always wondered about Nick’s dreams - not his career aspirations (director, youtuber, special effects artist, depending on the day) or his bucket list items (visit the North Pole, meet The Rock), but the actual dreams he has in his sleep. Even as a sleeping newborn, Nick’s hands would clench and his mouth would move like things were happening that he had to react to in his limited way. As Nick got a few years older, Glenn got to hear from the little dude himself - but only about the nightmares. Apparently the upsetting dreams were significant enough for preschooler Nick to muster his limited verbal skills and warn his parents about the “bad rabbit” or whatever else had troubled him. 

Once Nick was old enough, he’d just climb out of bed and waddle into his parents room if he woke up in the night. No explanations, just a pajama-clad little creature snoring and stealing the blankets with the skill of a much more experienced bed hog. 

During the rough times, the counselor had said that separation anxiety was normal for a kid going through what Nicholas was. There weren’t a lot of nights that year when Nick spent the whole night in his own bed. Either he’d wake up in the middle of the night and climb in with Glenn, or Glenn would give up and let him just start there. Sometimes neither of them could sleep, and they’d sit in that big empty bed together and watch movies until they finally passed out, the blue light of the TV flickering across their faces.

Things got better, at least on that front. Nick learned to fall asleep in his own bed again. Glenn learned to sleep in an empty bed. He’d find out about Nick’s nightmares when he intermittently woke up to the blankets getting tugged away and a hoarse little voice mumbling some incomprehensible report from the dream realm. 

And then slowly, so slowly Glenn didn’t even notice, it stopped. He doesn’t know when Nick first woke up from a nightmare, rubbed his eyes, and fell back to sleep without Glenn ever hearing about it. Whenever the last time was that the kid had climbed into his dad’s bed for reassurance, Glenn hadn’t known it was the last. Now it’s been years, and Nick is less of a kid and more of a young man all the time, and more and more of his life is unknown to Glenn. Glenn doesn’t even know _how_ Nick sleeps anymore. Does Nick wake up at the slightest noise like his old man? Drift off with his arms flung above his head like his mother used to do? Sleep through an earthquake like Robin? Glenn will still tuck Nick in and say goodnight if he’s carried Nick to bed as part of a goof, or if they’re sharing a room on a trip - but the days of watching over Nick as he falls asleep are in the past now. It’s bittersweet. 

The scorching synths of the movie soundtrack aren't getting any quieter, and Glenn isn’t getting any less awake. He grumbles and sits up, untwisting his sleep shirt. Robin makes a questioning noise as he’s jostled by the movement. 

“Nick’s up,” Glenn explains. “Gonna check on him.”

Robin groans and says something into his pillow that sounds like “people legs.” Glenn raises an eyebrow, but decides to let it go. 

When he wanders down the hall and into the main living area, he finds Nick tucked up on the couch, wrapped like a burrito in one of the many blankets that Robin has added to their home. Glenn snags one for himself and wraps himself up as he sits down next to Nick. 

Nick acknowledges Glenn’s arrival with a slight lift of his chin. It’s tricky to tell with the low and flickering light, but Glenn suspects the kid’s been crying. He looks fine now, but there’s that certain tiredness in their faces that people get when they’re all cried out. Even sunglasses can’t hide that. Glenn would know.

Nick’s watching Labyrinth, and it’s just gotten to the part where the fieries show up. Glenn’s remembering now that Nick was afraid of them when he was younger. And fair enough, really. Their eyes are suspiciously human and they’re grabby as hell. He waits for a lull in the action before he speaks. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

Nick rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “Woke up from a nightmare.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” 

Nick shakes his head and tucks his knees in a bit closer to his chest. “Nothing important.”

Glenn lifts one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “Up to you.”

Nick nods, equally noncommittal, and keeps his attention on the movie. After a few minutes, he untucks from the tight little ball he’s been curled into, making a big production of rearranging his blanket like that’s the only reason he’s doing it. The fact that he ends up leaning against Glenn’s side, his head on Glenn’s shoulder, well… that could be a total coincidence. It’s not, but in theory, it could be. 

He only meant to check on the kid, but Glenn decides to stick around. People say he’s a conspiracy theorist, but he just draws connections that seem obvious to him sometimes - even if they aren’t obvious to the rest of the world. Nick’s as self-centered and oblivious as anyone else (anyone raised by Glenn Close, in particular) but he could watch a movie in his room on his phone if he wanted to, or turn on the subtitles. If he’s watching a movie a hint too loudly at ass o’clock in the living room, he’s got a reason. If he’s doing it after a nightmare, it’s not hard to guess what the reason is. Glenn doesn’t love being woken up in the middle of the night, but if this is Nick’s new way of seeking out his dad for comfort after he has a nightmare… Glenn can work with that. 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does *mention* blood once or twice just in general but is not gory or scary, I promise. I have a very specific small hurt, big comfort, vulnerable loopy character thing I love and I’m totally putting it in here twice. Why? Because I’m gonna give me everything I want.

“Ah, shit.” Glenn sets his fork down and presses his hand hard to the side of his jaw, grimacing. 

Robin gives him a worried frown from across the table. “Is it your tooth again?”

“Yeah, hurts like a beast.” Glenn pushes his plate away grumpily. “It’s not so bad unless something touches it. I bumped it when I was chewing just now, and—“ he makes an explosive gesture with his hand. He sighs. “This sucks. I wanted my steak.”

“This is the same tooth that bothered you a couple weeks ago?”

“No, it’s all the ones at the way back, top and bottom.” Glenn points carefully at the corners of his jaw. “Sometimes one of them just goes off. Gets better on its own after a couple days.”

Robin sets his own fork and knife down. He feels guilty eating while Glenn can’t - even if it is a very good steak. “That doesn’t sound good. What does your dentist say is going on?”

Glenn scoffs. “I don’t have a _dentist,_ I’m an adult.”

Hands steepled patiently, Robin gives himself the requisite moment to adjust to Glenn’s world. He knows the drill. Stay calm. Minimize unneeded questions. Skip the _why_ of Glennworld logic and focus on the _what._

“When was the last time you went to the dentist, angel?”

Glenn shrugs. “No idea. Before Nick was born, probably.”

“I think you should see one about this tooth pain,” Robin says gently. “Infections can get serious.”

Glenn’s eyes narrow distrustfully. “Nah. Not necessary.”

There’s a staredown between them for a moment. Robin likes to choose his battles, and he usually can wait and let the world course-correct Glenn without having to get involved. Glenn’s got a ridiculously high tolerance for pain. If he’s hurting too much to eat, it’s pretty bad. Robin can afford to let this play out.

“All right,” he says mildly, and picks up his utensils again. Glenn watches intently as Robin cuts a slice off the perfectly cooked steak, spears it with the fork, and brings it to his mouth. “Oh, that’s good.”

Glenn glares.

***

Later that night, they’re fooling around before bed as usual. Robin nuzzles Glenn’s throat and lets his own stubbled chin scrape along the tender skin there. Glenn groans and his fingers dig tight into Robin’s arm. 

A tender kiss to Glenn’s neck elicits a soft moan: a tender kiss to the corner of his jaw elicits a sharp yelp and causes Glenn to scramble backward across the bed. Robin pulls back, too. He was halfway expecting something like this, but it’s still jarring. He holds back from reaching out to Glenn until the other man has stopped cursing and rocking back and forth.

When Glenn finally catches his breath and looks up, Robin is waiting for him patiently. He doesn’t say a word. 

“You can make me an appointment with your dentist,” Glenn mumbles from behind his hand. 

“Thank you.”

“Just a consult,” Glenn adds. “I’m not committing to anything beyond that right now.”

“That’s fine.” Robin rolls to the side of the bed and turns off the light. 

“We can still mess around,” Glenn protests. “It’s only my jaw that hurts.”

“Somehow,” Robin sighs, tucking the blankets around himself, “I’m not in the mood right now.”

***

“I _knew_ this would happen!” Glenn snaps as they leave the dentist's office. “That’s all they do in this racket, mess with your normal teeth so you have to keep going back for repairs on your… your _crowns_ or whatever. It’s a scam! It’s a ripoff.”

This rant has taken them all the way to the car, and Glenn slings himself into the passenger seat in a huff. Robin gets in more cautiously, still not saying anything as they pull out of the parking lot. He hadn’t so much offered to come along to this dental visit as he’d just acted the entire time like it was obviously supposed to happen like that. A few dental hygienists had given him slightly odd looks as he stood in the hallway next to the open door of Glenn’s exam room, but Robin has found that he’s usually read as _supposed to be here, apparently_ if he doesn’t act suspicious. So he just gave each passerby a distracted half-smile and went back to studying his paperwork - which was actually only a report for his own job that he’d brought along. He’d rather have read something more interesting, but he’s already missed two mornings at the office for dental visits that Glenn didn’t even make it all the way to. 

Glenn sulks in silence as they drive home. Robin doesn’t talk, doesn’t turn the radio on, just leaves Glenn alone with his thoughts for a while.

“I think my tooth already feels better,” Glenn mutters eventually. His tone says he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. “I don’t think it’s really that big of a deal.”

“What was the thing the dentist said?” Robin asks idly, as though he genuinely can’t remember. “You can get your wisdom teeth out now, or… something. What was your other option? Can you just do that instead?”

“I can get them out now, or I can get them out in a year or two and have the recovery be twice as bad,” Glenn says reluctantly. “And maybe get an infection in the meantime that fucks up my jawbone.”

“Goodness,” Robin murmurs sympathetically. “Doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”

“I want to get a second opinion about whether I actually would have to be out the whole time,” Glenn frowns. “I saw online that some wisdom tooth extractions just numb your mouth.”

“I think that tends to be teens,” Robin replies. “The dentist seemed pretty sure you’d need to be out. It sounds like your case is a little more complicated because you’re… because of your age.”

“Well, I hate it,” Glenn says bluntly. “And I’m not gonna let some weirdo surgeon go stabbing in my mouth when I’m not awake. He could be up to anything. He could put a tracking chip in there without me knowing.”

Robin lets that statement settle for a bit as he signals for their exit. Sometimes Glenn is exaggerating for his point, and sometimes he’s dead serious, and Robin still sometimes can’t tell the difference. He doesn’t really need to, though. He can read between the lines. Paranoid Glenn is usually the mask of scared Glenn. “I wonder if there’s a place that would let me be in the room. Then I could keep an eye on things, to be safe.”

“Hmm.” 

Glenn doesn’t add anything for the rest of the drive home, but Robin pulls out his phone once they’re in the apartment parking lot. “I’m gonna remind myself to look into that,” he explains. “Whether there are places that would let me sit in with you during the surgery.”

Glenn shrugs one shoulder. It’s not a no.

***   
  


It takes many phone calls to find a place that will comply with Glenn’s demands. So many phone calls that Robin starts to mentally rehearse his arguments for convincing Glenn to let a few requirements be dropped off the list. In the end, though, Robin’s persistence (and the fact that Glenn’s paying cash, because naturally he doesn’t have insurance) do the trick. 

Once the appointment is set, the weeks leading up to it are the worst. Glenn’s toothache goes away after a few days, and soon he’s trying to suggest again that perhaps the condition is resolved for good this time. Each time, Robin simply says “they need to come out” and steers him off that conversational track. They get through the wait. Somehow.

It takes a heavy dose of anti-anxiety medication to get Glenn to fall asleep the night before the procedure. In the early morning hours, Robin wakes him up, gives him another dose and steers him past the kitchen and straight to the car, where he buckles him into the backseat. Glenn dozes on the drive, but when they pull up to the clinic, he reacts like a dog who recognized the vet’s office. He starts to tug at the door handle, but Robin’s got the child locks engaged already. By the time he finishes parking and goes around to the passenger side, the fight has gone out of Glenn again. He allows Robin to guide him by the elbow into the clinic. It’s so early still that it feels like night, with the dawn just a promising glow on the horizon. 

“Only let them take four,” Glenn mumbles.

“I know,” Robin assures him. “Only the ones we talked about.” 

“No adding extra teeth,” Glenn says sternly. 

“No extras,” Robin agrees. “No technology. Only the people who we already did the background check on will be in there. And they’re going to give us the teeth to take home, like you wanted.”

Glenn narrows his unfocused eyes and nods. “Good.” 

The concierge who checks them in is polite, deferential - Robin gets the sense that they usually work with even bigger egos and wallets than Glenn’s. Every effort has been made to keep the clinical vibe to a minimum, and it more closely resembles a day spa. Glenn gets very interested in the refreshments bar, and Robin has to remind him about four times that he can’t have anything to drink yet. Glenn contents himself instead with examining the abstract modern art on the walls of their private room. He’s probably not supposed to actually touch it, but Robin always wants to do the same thing when he sees oil paintings, so he leaves Glenn to it.

Everything is relatively calm until it’s time for Glenn to go under the anesthetic. An edge of alarm starts to show through his existing chemical chill, but Robin nods to the clinicians to wait for a moment. He steps forward and takes Glenn’s hand in his. “I’m right here,” he says. “I’m going to be here the whole time.” Glenn squeezes his hand, closes his eyes, and nods. In turn, Robin nods to the anesthesiologist. 

“Count backward from ten, please,” the anesthesiologist asks. Glenn only makes it to six before his hand falls limp in Robin’s and he stops talking. 

The surgery takes longer than it did when Connor had his wisdom teeth out, closer to two hours than one. Robin sits in an out-of-the-way corner, fulfilling his pledge to “keep an eye on things” but mostly trying to not be distracting. He’s never been particularly squeamish about this kind of thing, but the extended vigilance and the fact that he isn’t supposed to be _doing_ anything starts to get to him after a while. It’s not a complicated or intense procedure, but it is surgery, and it’s hard for him not to react to seeing Glenn’s blood - even in very small amounts. When it’s all over, Robin finds that he has to lean forward and breathe deep for a few minutes before he can stand up and follow Glenn to the recovery room.   
  


***  
  


It takes most of an hour before Glenn starts to stir. Robin puts his book aside and takes Glenn’s hand gently. After a few more minutes, Glenn’s hand tightens in his and Glenn makes a startled snoring noise. He speaks without opening his eyes, his words made blurry by his numb mouth. “I changed my mind, don't put me under. I’ll keep the teeth.”

“It’s all done, sweetheart. You’re in the recovery room already.”

“I am?” Glenn opens his eyes and studies his serene surroundings suspiciously. 

Robin nods. “I’m afraid you can’t have anything to eat or drink for a little longer, but I can turn the lights up or down if you want, or get you another blanket.” They can technically leave as soon as Glenn feels up to it, but it seems wiser to let him wake up a bit more. “Might as well enjoy the room for a while, right? It’s very luxurious.” 

Glenn runs his fingers approvingly along the plush blanket covering him. He gives Robin a sidelong glance. “And are you included with the room?”

Robin hesitates. “I don’t follow.”

Glenn makes a weak puffing noise that would probably be a whistle if his lips weren’t numb. “I’m sayin… _eye candy.”_ He tries to wink, and ends up closing both eyes, slightly out of sync with each other. 

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” Robin’s heard a bit about his own behavior after the bike accident, and only with great restraint is he able to stop himself from pulling out his phone to record this. 

“Can I touch your beard?” Glenn asks abruptly. 

“Sure.” Robin leans in and lets Glenn paw happily at his face for a while. Glenn finally stops and moves his hands toward his own face curiously. 

“No, sir, nope.” Robin intercepts those wandering hands and sets them on Glenn’s chest. “Don’t touch your face right now.”

“Why?” Glenn demands. “Is it a new face?” He tries to reach up again. “Did you Face/Off me?”

Robin catches his hands just in time and holds them firmly. “You got your wisdom teeth out. Just the ones you told us it was okay to take.”

“I’ve never been wise,” Glenn says sadly. His gaze wanders around the room before he looks down at where Robin’s gripping his hands. “Big hands. Is it true what they say about guys with big hands?”

Robin tries not to laugh. “You usually say it’s just right.” 

“I have _seen_ it?” Glenn demands. He seems delighted and confused all at once. 

“Yeah, we’re together,” Robin reminds him gently. “More than a year now.”

Glenn’s eyes widen. “Seriously? Don’t mess with me, that’s not cool.”

“I’m serious.” Robin says, the smile creeping through despite himself.

“Aw,” Glenn says softly. “We’re so cute, huh. Can I have a smooch?”

“A… _smooch?”_ Robin echoes. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard Glenn use this word before.

“A kiss! A kissaroo,” Glenn insists. He tries to sit up and gives up, flopping back onto the pillow. “A kissaroo from me to you,” he says weakly.

Robin studies Glenn’s swollen cheeks and numbed mouth. “Okay.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Glenn’s forehead. “There you go.”

“A kissaroo,” Glenn says again, his pupils huge. 

“A kissaroo,” Robin agrees. He sizes Glenn up. “Are you ready to head home?”

“Yep,” Glenn says instantly, and reaches his arms out. 

Robin is very used to this by now, and scoops Glenn into his arms to pick him up out of the bed. Although they do this a fair amount, Glenn still is a grown man, and Robin isn’t confident about trying to carry his limp form through the halls. He sets Glenn gently onto his feet. “Take small steps, okay? I’ll be right beside you.”

“Are we dancing?”

“Not right now,” Robin says. When Glenn’s face falls, he adds, “When we get home, okay?”

Glenn nods and lets himself be led out of the recovery room, humming an unrecognizable tune as he walks along.

***  
  


Once the anesthesia wears off, Glenn is back to pretending that nothing hurts him. A head cold always gets him in full pitiful mode, but apparently pain is different in his complex and cryptic set of rules. Robin keeps the kitchen stocked with soft foods, makes sure the ibuprofen is easy to find, and keeps an eye on things - but keeps his mouth firmly shut. 

They only have one conversation about it. Robin is reading in bed as Glenn finishes getting ready in the bathroom. When he walks back in, he’s wearing just an old Doodlers shirt, unexpectedly nude from the waist down.

“Look at this,” Glenn says irritably.

“I’ve seen it,” Robin replies.

“My _ass,”_ Glenn complains. “All this soup is killing me. I’m not getting enough calories. My ass is disappearing. My pants are gonna start falling down.”

“What pants?” Robin asks pointedly. 

Glenn rolls his eyes and grabs some boxers from the dresser. He pulls them on and examines himself in the mirror beside the bed. “You don’t think it’s shrinking?”

“It’s lovely,” Robin says absently, turning a page. “Just the right size.”

“I’m probably good to go back to solid food anyway,” Glenn says. “It’s been a week. I haven’t had any bleeding for a couple days.”

“Whatever you like,” Robin says patiently. Glenn grumbles under his breath and climbs into bed. Robin sets his book aside and turns off the light, letting Glenn nestle on him as they settle in. 

“I’m proud of you for doing that,” Robin says into the darkness. “I know it hasn’t been much fun.”

“Yeah, well,” Glenn says reluctantly. “It is what it is. Had to cowboy up.”

“You did great,” Robin insists.

“Helps when you have backup,” Glenn mumbles. From him, that’s an effusive expression of gratitude. 

“Any time,” Robin replies. Glenn responds with a noncommittal hum. Something about Glenn’s breathing or the feel of his body against Robin’s says that sleep may not be Glenn’s first objective. It wouldn’t be a shock - sex has been off the table for as long as solid foods and smoking have. They’ve presumably both been thinking about when that might resume. 

“Don’t get too ambitious,” Robin warns, just in case. “I’m still nervous about your whole mouth situation.” 

There’s an answering chuckle from Glenn. “You only read half my mind that time. I was thinking about how there’s nothing wrong with _your_ mouth.”

“Very true,” Robin smirks. 

“Steer clear of my face, though,” Glenn adds nervously. “Just to be safe.”

Robin’s heart is full of competing emotions. Lust, sure, but also love and pride and possessiveness. He wants to keep praising Glenn, but he knows that Glenn will start to squirm away if he persists. He won’t put up with words, but he’ll let Robin worship his body with all the affection and admiration that can’t be said aloud - and Robin is eager. He can’t resist one little tease, though. “Not your face? Not even one little kissaroo?”

“Wait, what? Kissaroo?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Robin smiles to himself and plants a kiss on the top of Glenn’s head.


	41. Chapter 41

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn surveys his options and decides to set the last moving box down onto the studio floor, rather than adding to one of the teetering stacks. The professionals won't be here with most of the big furniture for a few days, but he and Robin got the keys to their new place this morning and have been bringing over van loads of boxes and smaller items all day. He's tired, he's dirty, he's thirsty, and he's feeling good. 

Their new apartment is one of those that passes from friend to friend and never gets listed. He’d stumbled into it when he ended up at the same kind of post-show house party that he’s been to a thousand times. The main difference was that he didn’t feel like utter shit from knowing he just played a moderately functional (at best) show while standing six feet from a bass player that hated his guts. 

Years of cumulative exposure to Dominic’s vibes must have been like working next to an unshielded x-ray. It probably caused weird cell mutations in Glenn that he won’t even discover for decades. Without thinking about it, Glenn runs his tongue across the back of his gums, where his wisdom teeth used to be. Everything’s long since healed up, but he still finds his tongue poking curiously around, many times a day, looking for the missing teeth. So weird. Maybe that’s one of his new mutant powers - phantom tooth syndrome. 

Fucking Dominic, though. 

Admittedly, now that he’s actually enjoying music again enough to care, Glenn finds he doesn’t have much patience when somebody blows off rehearsal or shows up an hour late. When he’s pissed about it, he can almost hear Dominic speaking through him about _respect_ and _professionalism_ and _wasting everyone’s time._ Glenn hasn’t decided yet whether that means he’s more of an asshole than he already knew, or whether it means that Dominic may have been less of an asshole than previously believed.

At any rate, he’d agreed to sit in with someone who needed a guitarist, and it had been a good show, good vibe, and a good afterparty. Jane was one of the handful of people in his professional circle besides him who had a kid, although said kid didn’t live at home anymore. When had Glenn become an age where so many people he knows have kids that are whole-ass young adults? It feels like barely any time since he was getting side-eyed for becoming a dad when he was barely into his twenties. 

At the party, he’d made some off-handed remark like “this is exactly the kind of place my boyfriend is always saying we should get,” and Jane had looked at him and said, “funny you should say that, actually.” One thing led to another, and now he’s a legal and official homeowner.

Yeah, Robin had been a little surprised to hear that Glenn had just kinda bought real estate without warning, but he rolled with it in his Robin way. And Glenn had been more than right when he said that Robin would love the place. Of course he was right, he knows what Robin likes. He’s pretty sure he knows what Nick likes, too- but just to be sure, he’d texted Nick a couple of pics and gotten the go-ahead before he signed anything. It still costs less than what they were paying in rent put together, and real estate is a good investment, right? And anyway, like his friend Rusty always says, you can’t be a tumbleweed forever. A man should have a piece of ground he can call his own. 

Okay, so it’s not so much “ground” as it is a loft at the top of a converted warehouse, with a pub on the ground floor and a floor of small office spaces in between, but frankly that suits them better. Not sharing a wall with anybody else’s living space is the humane choice, given the drums and the midnight nerf gun battles and all the other loud nonsense that they get up to. Plus everyone’s happier with a thriving neighborhood right out their front door, instead of more apartment buildings. If they ever get tired of it or want a different space, they’ll deal with that then. But Glenn’s getting closer to forty than he’s necessarily ready to admit, and it’s time he stopped waiting for his real life to begin. He also has all _kinds_ of ideas for what he can do to their space now that there’s no landlord to stop him. 

The loft itself is a hard-edged place, full of exposed brick and polished concrete, high ceilings and iron accents. There’s not a separate game room for Nick like he imagined, but the kid is psyched about the size of his bedroom and about having his own bathroom. It’s too soon to say definitively, but the layout seems like a good match to how they like to live - Nick has his space downstairs, he and Robin have their space upstairs, and both private spaces flow easily and naturally into a large common area. The kitchen is open to the sitting area, like Glenn had wanted, and there’s space for him to have everyone come over for a party. 

Finding the place was easy. Moving into it, decorating it, is turning out to be more complicated than Glenn anticipated. Not because either of them has a problem with the others’ style, but the sheer mathematical problem of putting two homes’ worth of stuff has required some paring down. And since Robin’s decor is fairly minimalist (besides all of the family photos), most of the paring down has fallen to Glenn. It’s less of a burden than it might be, really. A lot of his inventory is just impulse purchases that he used twice and lost interest in. Of the rest, too much reminds him of the GC3, and too much reminds him of when he’d moved in. Not good memories, for the most part. 

He’d rented the last place sight unseen, all those years ago. It didn’t look any worse than any other, and they could move in within a week. That meant everything right then. It meant that Glenn and Nick only had to survive one more week of living in that terribly empty house. It meant they threw things into boxes at random until they couldn’t do it anymore, and they left the rest for someone else to handle. Over the years that followed, they’d filled the apartment up with stuff, made it their own, but he realizes now that it somehow never quite felt like home. There are good memories there, but Glenn suspects he won’t miss the old apartment too much.

Glenn’s just finished putting some of his records up on the shelves in the studio. The studio was the most irresistible facet of the place when he saw it. The second floor space runs the whole length of the apartment, but since the big industrial windows are all on the front, whoever converted the space had decided to section off the studio with a glass wall that lets the sunlight come through to the bedroom. He won’t be locked away in a little box, he’ll have a room that’s a window to the outside world on one end and a window to their bedroom on the other. And somehow, packing and unpacking his stuff is bringing his attention to all kinds of neat shit he hasn’t touched in years - his vinyl collection, for one, but also some weird instruments he picked up on his travels and never took the time to learn. Well, he’s got time now, so maybe he’ll finally sit down and figure out what a bouzouki or an autoharp can do for his sound. Take that, band formerly known as the Glenn Close Trio. Dominic doesn’t have any songs with sitar in them. 

Glenn looks up from his shelving as he catches movement from the corner of his eye. Robin is in the bedroom, breaking down a few empty boxes and tossing them down the stairs to be recycled later. He’s been working at full tilt all day today, and his shirt is clinging attractively thanks to the sweat. Glenn still can’t believe that Robin’s actually wearing one of the _SMONK WORD_ shirts that Connor screen-printed recently. Without GC3 custom merch keeping him busy, the kid’s been branching out into much more experimental and entertaining directions. Robin rolls with much more of it than Glenn expected, although he'll only let Nick wear his own version of the shirt on the weekends. 

With a smile, Glenn sets the last albums on the shelf and strolls over to the door. "C'mere, old man, take a break." 

Robin crosses the room in a few strides, collapsing gratefully into the oversized blue armchair that's the centerpiece of the studio. Glenn had set eyes on it in a vintage shop and claimed it immediately. It’s about the only real furniture in the loft at this point. Most of his furniture from the old apartment isn’t worth moving, just stuff that’s been too much effort to get rid of before now. But this chair, he likes. Feels like the first piece of real furniture he’s owned in a long time, maybe ever. Feels like admitting that he might get to have nice things.

Glenn hands Robin a bottle of water “You gonna make it?”

“Too soon to say,” Robin groans, downing the water in one go. “Why did I insist on doing this part ourselves? What was I thinking?”

“You’re a control freak,” Glenn say. "It’s fine.”   
  
The sound system in here is already set up, and Glenn’s got one of his custom playlists going. Classic 80s shit, heavy on the underappreciated rocker chicks. Heart is playing now. Glenn hums along, and soon Robin picks it up, too. He took a long time to loosen up enough around Glenn to sing occasionally. Doesn’t need to quit the day job or anything, but hearing him singing and humming to himself as he goes about his day is a treat. It means he’s happy. 

Glenn joins in on the harmony for the last bit. _“—until I met you. But now it chills me to the bone, how do I get you alone?”_

Robin laughs in surprised delight. “We sounded good together.”

“Of course we did,” Glenn says. "We're good." He smiles, but then the smile falls from his face again. He should be tired, but Glenn’s getting antsier by the second. He can’t even put a name to the energy that’s tingling through him right now. It’s almost like the rush before he goes onstage, but without the fear. 

“What’s on your mind?” Robin asks.

“I’m all wound up for some reason.”

“Need help with getting grounded?”

“No, it’s not bad," Glenn drums his fingers on the back of the chair, rocking from foot to foot. "It’s like… good anxiety. Things are good.” 

“Are you describing… happiness?”

 _“Oh, is that what—_ fuck off, give me some credit.” Glenn reaches down to take Robin’s hand in his own, swinging them back and forth. “But yeah, okay, it’s a little bit that. It feels like if I haven’t seen the downside of all this yet, it’s because it’s really winding up to get my ass. I feel like there’s no way this good stuff lasts.”

“It doesn’t,” Robin says calmly. “Nothing does. The bad stuff, either.”

“Did you get into my stash? You sound stoned.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s just the truth.” Robin runs his thumb gently over Glenn’s wedding ring. “Everything ends, one way or another. We both know that.”

Glenn almost starts to argue, but bites his lip instead. He doesn’t like to think about that. Just another way that falling in love at this age feels different than when he was younger. It’s harder to pretend that they’ll have forever.

He climbs into Robin’s lap, ignoring the pained grunt as he drops his weight and lets his head fall onto Robin’s chest. That’s the best part of his chair, room for both of them at the same time. Not that he anticipates Robin spending a ton of time in the studio, but it’s nice to have options.

“I’m sorry I’m so sweaty,” Robin says to the top of Glenn’s head. “I’m just excited to get us moved in.”

“I don’t mind.” Glenn nestles in and relaxes. There aren’t any curtains up yet, and darkness outside makes the large windows at the front of the studio reflect their images like a mirror. Glenn takes in the sight carefully. If he didn’t know them, what would he see? 

They’re a mismatched pair at first glance, opposites in so many ways, a shadow on a sunny day. As usual, Robin’s dressed three notches nicer than Glenn; most of the time they go out, they don’t even look like they’re going to the same event. Maybe that’s why he so easily falls into the habit of joking about Robin’s role in his life when he introduces him. _This is Robin, my parole officer. This is Robin, my bodyguard. This is Robin, he’s spending the day with me because he won a raffle._

Or maybe he’s just out of the habit of explaining his life to other people. There’s not a word that feels quite right for all that Robin is to him. Glenn just knows that he can’t imagine his life without him. 

He wasn’t looking for this, but if he had been, what would he have put on his wishlist? Somebody he could trust, and who trusted him? Somebody he could always talk to, who always thought he was worth listening to? Nah, he’s giving himself too much credit. He would have gotten it all wrong, looked for someone young and cute, impulsive, someone he could impress with his wild child antics. He’d have sought out someone too fucked up to notice anything fucked up about him. Reliable, no drama, compatible with his friends? Good with Nick? His dumb ass wouldn’t have even thought to ask for any of that.

Then there’s the earnestness, the honesty and vulnerability. It’s what makes things work with him and Robin, but it’s also what makes things hard with them. Because if neither of them had the guts to say “I love you and I’m happy you’re here” every damn day, this would never have gone anywhere. But Glenn can’t always easily return what Robin offers so freely. Not after more than a year, maybe not ever. It’s not how he’s built anymore. 

Maybe twenty years ago… but there’s no way to untangle all that into a way that makes sense, not without throwing away time with Morgan, time with Nick… When else? Those first years after he’d lost her, when he’d been a raw mess who had to punish anyone who had the audacity to like him? The years after, when he’d been watching the world from a tower with no door?

No, there wasn’t a time for him and Robin until the day when, suddenly, there was. Probably wouldn’t have even worked out if Faerun hadn’t chosen a few months into their relationship to school his ass and dump him back on Robin’s doorstep with a few extra scars and a lot more sense. Sometimes he’s not sure if Robin really understands how different the Glenn he knows now is from the Glenn he pulled to him and kissed that night after the concert. Maybe that’s good. That guy had some growing up to do.

Time kept running differently for Glenn even after he came back through the portal, it’s the only explanation. Could you really find friends like he has now - a family like he has now - so quickly? Could it really take so little time for someone to go from being a stranger to being everything that Robin is? 

There wasn’t one particular day when Glenn realized how much his life was changing; he’d just found some things he’d taken for granted were gone. When was the last time he’d had to beg some so-called friend for a favor, knowing he didn’t have any better options? Or the last time that Nick had been the only one who noticed - who was even in a position to notice - when Glenn was sick, or scared, or miserable? It was just the two of them for so long, and then their world filled with people almost faster than they could handle. Nick has so many friends now, he’s barely home. Glenn forgot that adults got friends too, until all this happened. Now he doesn’t just have Henry and Ron and Darryl, but also Mercedes and Samantha and Carol and Penny and...

And then there was this whole other thing, something Glenn had assumed wouldn’t be part of his life again. But this ridiculous, sexy, fussy, sweet, barely-averted walking disaster of a man wandered into Glenn’s world and keeps forgetting to leave. Robin’s is the first face he sees every morning and the last voice he hears every night. There’s no big drama to it, no declarations of love in the pouring rain. There’s just what he feels when he looks at Robin, in words too simple and earnest to ever be said out loud: _This is where you’re supposed to be, right here with me. What took you so long?  
  
_ It's all so good, so why is his heart beating so fast? Why would the Glenn that he sees reflected in the window be so tense right now? That guy's clearly doing fine. He's in his new home, held in the arms of the man he loves, who looks as relaxed as Glenn ought to be.   
_  
_ “Why are you so calm about us moving in together?” Glenn asks suddenly. “What if we messed things up by doing this? Disrupted the equilibrium?” 

He twists around to make sure he can see Robin’s face. “I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. You know I just throw out recyclables if it’s too hard to wash them, right?”

Robin nods, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“If ice falls out of the ice dispenser and onto the floor, I just kick it under the fridge and let it melt,” Glenn continues steadily. “When I break things, I put them back balanced really carefully so when you go to pick them up, you’ll think you broke them.”

“I see,” Robin says patiently. “ Anything else you need to get off your chest?”

“Sometimes I use your toothbrush when I can’t find mine,” Glenn says quickly. “And I _do_ notice when there’s only a little cereal left in the box and put it back on the shelf. I lied about that. I notice and I do it anyway.” 

Robin chuckles. "Sweetheart, I knew all that already. I know I keep saying it, but really - you didn’t catfish me here. I do pay attention." 

Glenn gives him a skeptical glare. 

“Look, obviously you’re completely impossible to _live with,”_ Robin says. “But it’s not as hard to love you as you think it is.”  
  
That one just hangs in the air, and it's a tribute to how much Glenn's changed over the past year that he doesn't puncture the moment by making some stupid joke about the word _hard_ or something. 

“I think there’s a lot of people who’d argue with you about that one,” Glenn mutters.

“Yeah, well. I can think of a few people who’d back me up, too.” Robin ruffles Glenn’s hair, forcing the conversation to come to a halt while Glenn fixes it. 

“I don’t understand why I get to have all this good stuff,” Glenn admits, once his hair is restored to its proper arrangement. “I feel like the universe is going to put me back in my place any minute now. Glenn Close doesn’t get a happily-ever-after sort of love story, you know?” 

“I don’t think living happily ever after is a real life thing,” Robin says. “I think you just try to live more or less happily, for however long you can manage it.” Robin's chest rises and falls under Glenn as he sighs. “I understand where you’re coming from, though. Growing up, I was such a mess. I didn’t expect that anyone else would want to put up with me. I didn't expect that somebody would fall in love with me and we would make a family together. I certainly didn’t expect that it would happen twice.”

Robin’s hand drifts to Glenn's waist. His fingers tuck in under the hem of Glenn's shirt so he can trace the lines of Glenn’s lock-and-key tattoo with his fingertips, a little habit that he's gotten into over the past few months. 

“This isn’t a mystery,” Robin says thoughtfully. “What we are, where we’re going. That’s what you told me that night when you got back from tour. It’s not a mystery that I need to solve. I think about that a lot.”

“Yeah? You still seem to be trying to figure me out.” 

“Well, _you,_ yeah, that's different. But you’re not a mystery either, you’re a puzzle,” Robin says.

“Is that good?”

“You know I love puzzles.” 

Glenn allows himself a small smile. “I think I’m like a puzzle you get at the thrift shop. I got some pieces missing, and maybe the shoe from Monopoly is in there for some reason.”

“You’re the New York Times Sunday crossword,” Robin corrects him. “Maddeningly difficult, but very satisfying to work on.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Good," Robin says. His eyes leave Glenn's face and he looks around at the studio. "You found a good place for all of us. I think it's going to be good." 

“You think you can be happy here?” Glenn asks. “With this as your home?”

“Yeah,” Robin says, without a moment of hesitation. “Can you?”  
  
Glenn finally breathes out. It feels like he's been holding that breath for years. 

“Yeah,” Glenn replies. “I already am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah we're getting somewhere slowly but surely.  
> two chapters left - one for Nick and one for Glenn.


End file.
